Things Left Unsaid
by Changhenge
Summary: 2011. Christian and Syed are together but there are still many things that they have kept from each other. Will they find a way to tell each other everything or are some things best left unsaid?
1. Chapter 1

"Come on Christian, please. Its my birthday…you said we could do whatever I wanted for my birthday and this is what I want."

Syed looks imploringly at me and I sigh. "Yeah well when I said that I was thinking that you would want something more…..appealing." It's Syed's turn to sigh now, although he embellishes it with a roll of his eyes. "Christian…"

"I just can't believe that you really want to spend your birthday in the midst of what will undoubtably be the world's most uncomfortable, awkward, _disastrous_ setting possible. I mean, dinner with…"

"….with the people I love best in the world, yes" he interrupts. "Please Christian, one evening, one meal with my family, is it really too much to ask?" And now out come the eyes. Those gorgeous huge brown eyes, that intense, vulnerable look, that causes my heart to ache, my tightly held resolve to weaken and my mind to forget all I had sworn it to remember. I still don't know if he is aware of quite how much power he holds over me, of quite how much he can make me do with just his eyes. I sort of hope he doesn't know, this vulnerability is almost too embarrassing to admit to even him, but at the same time I want him to realise how weak I am for him, how weak I want to be for him.

"Fine, fine" I concede, raising my hands in only semi mocking surrender. "You could have had anything, _anything_" I repeat, raising my eyebrows suggestively at him "that you wanted, but instead we'll spend your birthday attempting to avoid your mother poisoning me, or laying booby traps under my seat, oh God even worse, she's going to make me change all of Kamil's nappies all through the meal, isn't she?"

"You're kidding right? Let you anywhere near Kamil?"

"Ah yes, one son corrupted, who knows what I might do if I get close to the others. I'm surprised Tam is even allowed to sit at the same table as me. I'm surprised you are to be honest. Oh fuck, that's it isn't it, we're going to be sitting on opposite ends of the table so that she can check that I haven't _perverted_ your table manners or something," I moan away but Syed is just grinning at me. His grin alone is winning me over but I'm not letting him off that easily. Not this time. "And," I continue, "why did you have to wait until right now to tell me, couldn't you have given me time to prepare myself. I could have done with a couple of days preparation not a couple of hours."

"Yeah, and give you time to talk me out of it, no way." He laughs at my pout. "Ah poor Christian, so hard done by. I tell you what, I promise to make it up to you afterwards. I mean, really make it up to you." And now, following the success of The Eyes, comes The Look. Now while I might be unsure if he knows of the amazing success rate of The Eyes, there is no doubt that he knows exactly what The Look does to me. The Look, where all of Syed's lust and desire comes to the fore, where he looks at me with no attempt to disguise what he wants and plans, to do to, for and by me. And I feel his desire running through my veins, with every nerve, every hair, every inch of me feeling the power of his licentious eyes. The first time he gave me The Look it took all of my self-control to stop myself from grabbing him right there right then, throwing him down on the kitchen counters at the Unit and taking him in full view of Jane, Zainab, Amira, anyone. I bit my lip so hard to stop myself I could taste the blood for weeks. Still, that minor pain was almost completely forgotten about when he sneaked round to the flat later that evening and repeated The Look with a far more satisfying outcome.

When he gives me The Look, in the sanctity of our own flat, we both know what is ahead.

I reach across to Syed and stroke my thumb across his lips but he dodges out of my path with a smile. "Afterwards I said, Christian, I'll make it up to you afterwards."

"I think I deserve a little treat first, just to keep me going through dinner." I move closer again. I can feel his body respond automatically to my presence and I smile inwardly.

"You can't ever do as you're told can you?" he laughs.

"I dunno…..I think I'm pretty good at following your orders sometimes" I smirk and slowly drag one finger under the bottom of his t-shirt and over his tensed stomach muscles.

A faint blush comes over his cheeks. "Christian…"he warns, "….we have to get ready." But he makes no attempt to move away and my finger continues to stroke, to weave around the hair that trails down below, and I see his eyes begin to darken. "Christian…" he repeats, and I can hear the slight shake in his voice

"Hmmm?"

"….stop it…" he murmurs in possibly the least convincing voice ever. This teasing has always been good for us, right from the start although then it often ended with both of us riled up but alone, one of my least favourite combinations. Still, at least I never doubted his response to me, I always knew what he wanted. His words might have insisted different but there was no denying the truth his body declared. Now there is no real attempt at verbal disguise but he still likes to build up his desire, to hold off until his body can take no more and he cracks. And the sight and feel of Syed letting go of all his pent up wants and needs, unashamedly taking what he craves from my unarguing body is something I can't ever imagine losing now.

"Stop what….." I continue the game, edging nearer, my hand still drawing circles around his navel while my other hand reaches up and plays with the loose curls round the back of his neck.

"….you _know _what…." His voice lowers, to match his heavy lidded eyes, and I can feel his muscles under my fingers tense even further as he forces himself to remain stationary. I glance down at his hands and am gratified to see him clench and unclench his fists. Nearly there...

"…..no…..I have no idea what you mean…" My fingers on his stomach reach lower and roam just inside his waistband. I inch closer, so while our bodies are still not touching, I can feel his heat waft over me and smell the familiar yet oh so tempting scent of his. Back in the days when he would run from my bed, leaving me with sore body, sore heart but renewed hope, I would wallow in this scent. I'd pull the pillow, _his_ pillow, over my face, press myself deeper into _his _side of the sheets, shut my eyes and pretend he was still there. There was a time when I was embarrassed at the depths of my desperation and desire, that is until I saw him do the same, rolling over half asleep to the side of the bed that I had just departed from and burying himself there with a familiar smile on his face. There is no shame when it comes to me and him, all those feelings that used to cause me panic and make me wonder what I had turned into are reciprocated in full by him who inspires them.

"….well if you don't know, and I am not going to tell you…then what are we to do…" He whispers, those greedy ravenous eyes looking up at me now, his unspoken messages of love and lust sending a shot of desire through my veins and making my stomach flip. Fuck, I hope he cracks soon, I am aching already and I am barely touching him. I decide to up the ante.

"….I guess I was thinking you could always show me…." I lean across to whisper in his ear, moving deliberately to cause our fully clothed groins to rub against each other. I feel, rather than hear, his muffled moan and stifle a gasp of my own.

"…show you?…" His voice is thick and he only just manages to get the words out. He is barely holding onto his composure, and his ill-disguised passion makes me feel faint with anticipation.

"…show me…" I repeat as my fingers move further inside his trousers and ever-so-gently stroke down his tight boxer shorts.

All attempts at composure fly out of the window. Syed pulls me tight against him as our lips meet in an explosive kiss, his hands running over my hair, my neck, my back, my arse, while I grip his hair tightly in a way that must cause him pain but always sends him over the edge, makes him crash his hips into mine and moan with delight. He fumbles with the button at the top of my jeans, pulling away from the kiss as he undoes the zip and then pushes me towards the bed, _our _bed, his eyes nearly black with pent up lust. Teasing does this to him, gives my sweet Sy a dose of passionate strength, making him ready to take, to push, to get exactly what he wants. And well, I'm not exactly refusing…


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. **

**This is based on canon at the moment. Once the blackhole ends it will obviously differ, although I may try to allude to some of the later onscreen events if they fit with my story.**

We lie, a mass of tangled, sweaty limbs, the echo of our moans and screams still seeming to reverberate around the flat. Syed turns to face me and I push his thick damp locks back off his face and behind his ear. He smiles at me, one of his gorgeous smiles that he reserves for me and me alone.

"Thanks for agreeing to tonight, I know it won't be easy or fun for you to spend all evening with my parents but it means a lot to me."

"It's okay, and it might be fun." He raises an eyebrow at me. "I mean, I could always find my hand falling _accidentally_ halfway up your thigh..."

"Christ_ian_…" he warns, but his teasing tone of earlier is gone and he looks more sad and worried than anything else. "You will…..try, won't you? Please?" And I feel guilty as all hell. It's his birthday and for whatever reason he does actually want this dinner, he wants it to work and I want him to be happy. So I bite back the retort that is on the tip of my tongue and rub my thumb over his lip in my familiar apology.

"Sy, I'm sorry, I will try, I promise. I'll be on my best behaviour, cross my heart, hope to die and all that." Syed rolls his eyes but I can see I have pacified him a bit.

"You know, it does mean a lot to me that mum even agreed to the dinner. I mean, I have to thank Dad for this really, he's been trying so hard, talking her round, he's been really great."

"Hmmmmm…" I mutter noncommittally.

"I know, I know, he didn't exactly react well at first, and did some bad stuff, to both of us, but I really think that was the shock of how he found out, and being disappointed in me for letting him down, and lying, and I mean even when he was upset he was never as bad as Mum was he? "

I've never told him.

I can never tell him.

"Christian?" Syed looks at me, his babbling temporarily halted as he looks worriedly into my eyes. I shake myself internally and put on a smile. "Yeah, definitely not as bad."

Syed smiles slightly in relief and carries on talking but my mind is already elsewhere. I've never told Syed about the way Masood treated me once he found out. Never told him about the way he looked at me, like I was the worst kind of man, manipulating his son for my own sordid pleasures. Never told him about how he took pleasure in telling me about the baby, about trying to pay me to leave. And never ever ever told him about how his dad left me lying on the ground, not caring if I lived or died. No I've never told him that. How could I? How could I tell my Sy, my loving caring Sy what his dad did? He would never understand, that kind of behaviour is incomprehensible to him and would only serve to break his heart. I thought about it, I wanted to sometimes. I nearly did once, the one time that we mentioned Qadim and the beating since we got back together.

* * *

We hadn't been back together long, we had been lazing on the sofa together, Syed's head resting on my chest. We were talking of something and nothing, I can't remember what, playing with each others hands, still enjoying the novelty of being together with no time restraints and no guilt, just being. Syed paused slightly and asked me quietly, "Was it worse?"

"What?"

"When Qadim…you know….was it worse than the time before?" His voice cracks slightly as he speaks, and I hear the undercurrent of fear.

Oh _that_. "Yeah, it was. Physically of course cos there were three of them,"

"What?" Syed practically fell off the sofa, squirming round to face me "I didn't know…I thought. I thought it was just, well.."

I could see the guilt rapidly filling his face and my heart sank. We're weren't supposed to be doing this anymore. "Look Sy, baby, it happened, it was awful but I'm better now, and we're together. We have to move on, eh, otherwise we'll spend all our time regretting the past and missing out on our fabulous future together."

"Fabulous?"

"_Fucking_ fabulous."

Syed smiled, moved back to his previous position, started fiddling with my ring again, but continued in a very quiet voice. "I did worry at first that it could have been my dad. And Tam said it wasn't of course, but then I worried that he had been involved. I mean, it's ridiculous of course, he wouldn't do that, couldn't do that..." He trails off, sounding like he is trying to convince himself and for just a second I thought about telling him. It would have felt good to have got it off my chest, but as quickly as the thought entered my mind it vanished again. It would do no good, only hurt. I leant my head forward and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair and moving my arms tighter around him.

"Well he didn't beat me up, did he, so stop it, eh. Just relax."

We lay peacefully for a minute or two but then I felt Syed begin to squirm round to face me again. "You would tell me, though, if he'd been….involved, I mean I'm sure he wasn't but if he were…" I pulled his head to mine, and kissed him gently. "Relax"

"…but…"

I kissed his jaw (..relax…), down his neck ( ….just relax…), smoothing my tongue over his sharp stubble, loving the contrast between that and his soft skin (…..relax baby…..), before biting down on his shoulder. That gasp from Syed's mouth was all I needed to hear to know that his father was definitely no longer on his mind at all. The movement of his hands serving as a further indication. "Shit, Sy yeah, like that."

* * *

And that was that. The nearest I got to telling him ended instead in me finding other ways to take his mind off it. I could pretend it was unusual but really… And since then, any time that I have thought of telling him, I have stopped myself before any words could come out. I hate secrets, hate lies and I swore when we got back together that we would be honest. Totally honest with no more deceit on anyone's side. The old me would have declared that the truth must out, to hell with the consequences, but this is isn't the old me. I've changed, he's changed me, made me a better man. And I do have to think about the consequences. What good would it do to tell him? All I would be doing is making myself feel better by not holding this secret in anymore. And I would be breaking his heart which still believes in the good in people, no matter how many times he has seen the worst. All I would be doing is maybe breaking this fragile peace he has formed with his dad. Syed loves his family, and if I love him as much as I know I do then I know I can keep this quiet. That annoying little voice in my head interrupts to add some unwelcome home truths, let's be really honest now Christian, it nags, the other reason you haven't told him is because you are worried that he won't be angry enough, that he'll find a justification for what his father did, that he'll take his side. Or worse still, think that you are lying. Selfish selfish selfish Christian. And maybe I still am, making some imaginary list of important people and insisting that I be placed at the top. It's pathetic, I'm pathetic. He _chose_ me, chose _me_, risked never having his family again and I still worry that he'll wake up one day and decide I'm not worth it. No, I tell that persistent nagging voice, I haven't told him because I don't want to hurt him. Because I love him.

"….and he was good sometimes back then too," Syed's voice wakes me from my reverie, "I mean when I was in hos-, erm, in a bad place, he was really good, taking me back home,"

Yeah. We don't talk about that either. Sy doesn't know if I know about his suicide attempt or whatever it was. I want to ask him about it, want to ask if he meant it, what had Roxy said to him before, did he regret it afterwards, was it… well, was it my fault? But even just thinking about it makes my stomach ache and my head spin. I don't know if I could take talking about it, and Syed is certainly not in any rush to chat about it. Well not normally…..

"I mean, he took me back even after mum told me she wish-…after what mum said, and that cant have been easy for him." My head snaps up to look at Syed but he is looking away and doesn't notice, still intently listing all his fathers plus points, most of which appear to be along the lines of 'well he isn't as bad as _Zainab_'. As if the simple act of not burning your clothes, and not forcing you into marriage is worthy of some kind of Parent of the Year award. Zainab. What on earth did she say to her son whilst he was lying in hospital? I remember walking in to see Syed lying there.

* * *

I hadn't thought about what I was going to do or say, I just rushed there to the repeated refrain in my head 'please be okay Sy, please be okay'. And then I saw him, talking and laughing with Tam and that relief that rushed through my body nearly overwhelmed me. But then in the next second the reality of the situation hit me, he tried to kill himself because of me, because of us, because he was losing his family, because it was all too much or whatever but now he is better and he is with his brother. He has regained his family and I have no place here. Tamwar is making him smile, his family are the ones by his side, and me appearing will only jeopardise this. I see them smile and laugh together and he looks so much happier than I imagined. Maybe it is for the best, they can make him happy, not me. So I turned on my heel and left, left Syed to his family, hoping that this time they wouldn't let him down and make a mockery of my sacrifice. When I saw his mother burning his clothes I feared I had made a mistake, but I thought it was too late and I walked on by.

* * *

And now, now he hints that it was even worse than that, that she said something more to him. I hesitate, wondering if I could bring it back to that, find out what it was, but I stop myself again.

"….and he's the one who has been persuading my mum to have us round, honestly I think he could really be okay with us, properly okay, in time." Syed's earnestly sincere tone brings a genuine smile to my face. He has such hope, such optimism and such hope, and I can't let him down.

"Yeah, me too." And I am rewarded with another one of those smiles. "Best go get ready then, eh Sy."

I love him, so I let him believe in others. I love him, so I keep quiet. I love him, so I lie.


	3. Chapter 3

"Christian are you not ready yet? We're going to be late, the dinner will be burnt, what are wearing anyway, it's not a vest is it? I don't think this shirt is ironed quite right, the collar's all funny. We're really going to be late, Kamil will have gone to bed so I won't get to see him, Mum will go mad, she'll probably never invite us over again, Dad will think we're not really trying—"

"Sy, chill. I'm ready, you're ready, we have 15 minutes to get there and in case you hadn't noticed, we live 5 minutes away. Your shirt is fine, my clothes are fine, everything is fine." I put my hands on Syed's shoulders and looked him in the eyes, watching how his look of worry and fear gradually reduces. "Breath. Its going to be okay. But we really will be late if you have some kind of panic attack and I have to take you to the hospital. And while spending all night sitting in a hospital waiting room is still preferable to fine dining with your mother," I continued, to the accompaniment of Syed's raised eyebrow, "I do want this dinner to go well. It's important to you and so I guess it's important to me too. Right, let's go then?"

I took his slight nod as agreement, grabbed our coats and we headed out into the square.

We walked side by side, but hands apart, as if there was still anyone left in Albert Square who wasn't completely aware of our relationship. I'm still never quite sure which Syed will be with me when we step outside. I was pleasantly surprised by Syed's relaxed attitude at first. I had been expecting a few more wobbles but aside from the odd fit of paranoia, he seemed to be more comfortable than I had given him credit for. That's Sy I guess, once he makes up his mind, he leaps into things with both feet! Still, sometimes, I'll get the public brush-off, or risk seeing him storm off with the wrong touch. It's usually whenever he is thinking of his family that I get the lines about how things are better when we don't 'flaunt them' out in public. So really I should have guessed that tonight he was going to be in _that _kind of mood.

A half smile came across his face. "Funny isn't it, the last time we ate dinner together at my parents you were the only one having a great time."

"Odd….I seem to remember you enjoying yourself a bit too. At least, part of you…."

"Me? Nah, must be that old age kicking in and messing with your…..memories."

"Old age? Watch it boy, or else I'll have to prove exactly how young I still am, messing or no messing."

"No messing? Well that would be disappointing. All promise and no follow-through…"

Apparently flirtatious talk doesn't count as flaunting in public. Mind you, even Zainab would need ears like a hawk to hear us right now. And we'd spoken about worse than this while right under her nose before. And in front of others. All through those secret months, a lifetime ago, when we would stand together at the Vic, our whole conversations consisting of double entendres and private jokes. Right now though it was a bit more half-hearted. I think both of us were just trying to distract ourselves from what lay ahead. The idea of eating dinner with Syed's family was hardly going to rank highly in my "Ten Best Things To Do With Your Boyfriend" list, or the Top One Thousand actually, but this feeling of dread was far greater than I would ever let on to Syed. And judging by Syed's silence and tensed muscles as soon as we near the front door, I'm guessing that his fear goes even further than he has told me too.

The door opens. Masood opens it. Masood. Shit.

"Dad"

"Syed." He smiles at Syed, a seemingly genuine smile. "Christian." A sort of smile. I think it's a smile but the expression in his eyes is unreadable. It catches me off-guard as I realise that I have become so used to reading Syed's eyes, of seeing all that remains unsaid within that dark abyss. I wonder how it is that others could be so blind to what is inside Syed, how they would just see the surface and believe his words. Sometimes I think that that is what worries me most about Masood, this feeling that like Syed, there is so much more going on that I have no idea about. And the idea that Masood and Syed are similar in that way scares the hell of me too. I'd just rather not think about that. Thankfully Syed doesn't seem to have noticed our over-cautious tones, reminiscent more of two wild animals eyeing each other up before the fight than of polite adult greetings. He is too busy mentally preparing himself for seeing his mum I expect. personally I'd rather see Zainab, I'm almost looking forward to it in a semi-masochistic way. At least with Zainab you know what you are getting. There is no disguise, no pretence. If she hates, she hates openly. Her disgust at me, at my life and at my 'perversion' of her son appals me, but I can deal with it. I can confront her, argue with her, fight with her. Masood however, I just don't know how to deal with. I used to think we were friends. Well we were sort of, we could share a laugh and a joke at least. But then, after it all came out, I saw this other side of him. This darker side but still behind that smiling face. And I don't have a fucking clue how to confront a darkness that I can't even see. I dunno, maybe I should have confronted him before, told him how I felt seeing him walk away from me in the street, tell him how it felt to have the purest thing in my life treated like a sordid game. But when I got the chance, the one time that it has been just me and him, in private, I failed.

* * *

Syed had moved a couple of weeks ago and it was bliss. Sheer delight going to bed with him every night and waking up with him every morning. Not to mention going to bed with him in the morning and the afternoon. And not just bed. Well we were on a honeymoon of sorts even though we barely left the flat. We didn't need to leave, not just then. The novelty came in the joy we found from revelling in our new found freedom. Freedom from clock-watching, from the guilt, from that gnawing feeling that it was all going to end any minute now. But we were about to re-enter the real world, Syed had just gone out looking for work and I was getting ready to go back to the gym. I was in my dressing gown, tidying up my, sorry, our, usually immaculate flat. Immaculate you see, unless you have had Syed 'making an effort' in the kitchen and have had other things on your mind apart from cleaning. I picked up last night's pizza boxes to chuck them into the bin but in doing so knocked Syed's keys on the floor. The buzzer went, and I chuckled, Syed obviously coming back for his keys, and maybe his job hunting could watch just a little bit longer. I picked up the intercom and didn't even bother to ask who it was, just buzzed him in.

I was in the kitchen when I heard him shut the door behind him. "You left them on the table you idiot. But good timing anyway, I was just about to take a shower, don't s'pose you fancy joining me eh?"

"No, don't think I do actually." I started with surprise. The voice was familiar but it certainly wasn't Sy. Masood. The fear that ran through my body surprised me. I had rarely felt like this, so out-of-control, so threatened. I turned around slowly, wishing that I had gone out, or actually _asked _who it was on the intercom, or at least got bloody dressed! I made myself breath, it's only Masood, you've spoken to him a thousand times. But this was different, we weren't in the Vic, or out in the Square. There weren't loads of people around. I was alone, in my flat, and unwillingly all I could think of was of Qadim and his thugs, and dragging myself downstairs, and of seeing his face. "Masood, Sy's gone out I'm afraid. I'll….tell him you came round."

"I didn't come here to see Sy_ed_." The emphasis on the last syllable was subtle but unmistakable. "Actually I waited till I saw him leave this morning. I wanted to talk to you. Alone."

"Right. Okay then." I picked up the kettle to hide the fact that I was shaking. Shaking for fucks sake, shaking because of Masood, what the hell was wrong with me. I was over this, I was. I showed him that in the Vic. He punched me and I laughed in his face. He yelled at me outside the Mosque and I walked away. I am a better man than him. "Tea, coffee?"

"Neither thanks." And he sat on the sofa, looking straight at me. "Just fancied a chat. No problem with that is there?"

Right that was it. I walked over the sofa and faced him, man to man. "Look this is my flat, no sorry, our flat, mine and Sy's "

"Sy's?" Again with the slight sneer.

"Yes, _Sy's._ And you are welcome here, as Sy's dad, but let's stop this dancing around and just cut to the chase. What do you want?" And I sit down on what is after all _my _sofa.

"I've never been here before. Been inside your flat, I mean. Don't you think it is right that I get to see where my son is living. How he is living."

"And you want to check out my den of sin?" I can't take it, I leap up and start pacing.

"I worry about my son, I care about my son, I love my son."

"Really? I thought you didn't have a son? Isn't that what you said?" I am raging now, thinking of the way Syed looked when he saw his family ignore him in the street, thinking of the way Masood spoke outside the Mosque.

"I was angry. I'm still angry, but I haven't completely given up on him, I can't. I'm sorry Christian, but you wouldn't understand how it feels, to have a son and to lose him." He looks at me with that condescending 'more in pity than anger' smile that riles me even further. I dig my nails into my clenched fists, he will not get the better of me. Syed chose _me_, I remind myself. There shouldn't have been any competition, it should never come to that but it did. And he chose me. I calm myself and turn back to the sofa.

"I love him and he loves me." I repeat the mantra that used to keep me company on all those cold nights through that endless winter until he came back and brought the summer with him.

"Well I know he does." I am about to jump in and correct his noted omission. But he continues before I have the chance to speak. "Or thinks he does anyway, even Syed wouldn't ruin his family for nothing. I just need to know one thing Christian, how long?" And again with that condescending smile, although I am now too confused to take it in.

"What?"

"How long will this last, when should I be prepared to have my son back, to repair all this?" He cast his hand around the flat, this one gesture seemingly covering everything that had happened in this last year.

"What _are _you talking about?"

"I just want to make sure I, that his _family_, are prepared to look after Syed, once you have finished with your fun and left him high and dry. So what will it be? A couple of months, 3, 4?" Masood's face remained ominously pleasant, which only increased my anger. I think I preferred him shouting at me in public to this, this _game_. I definitely would rather he just punched me again.

"I _love _him, why don't you get that? This isn't some stupid game, this is my life, my life with Syed, our life together. For good. So please, for Sy's sake above all, you are just going to have to find a way to deal with that."

"For good? Right, and you know that based on your past experiences right, all those long term relationships that you've had. That makes you so sure that you won't get bored, won't get tempted, won't find it all just that little bit too difficult?" Right, that was it. His sanctimonious smile was just too much, and I lost all control.

"Just. Get. Out. Now. I've tried, I have really tried to be nice, to talk to you with respect, because you are Syed's father but I can't do it anymore. You just see what you want to see. And I will not have you here, sitting in my flat, telling me what I will and won't do. What gives you the right, eh? After what you did. Or didn't do." And now, finally the mask drops and I see Masood begin to crumble.

"I…..I was, it was….you were….."

"Yeah. That's what I thought. Enough now, we can be civil, for Syed's sake but that's it." I walked over and opened the door. Masood stood and made his way to the door. In the doorway he paused for a moment and turned to me.

"Syed….Have you…..Does he…..Does Syed know?" His face is unreadable, but his voice cracks slightly, the way Syed's does when he is asking me a question when he is afraid of the answer.

"Everything I do, or don't do, everything I say, or don't say, is all for Syed. To protect Syed, to take care of him, to do what is best for him. So what do you think?" I looked at Masood. No further words were needed. He nodded quickly and left.

* * *

We hadn't spoken since, and here we were, face to face again, but the months had passed and we were on his doorstep this time, and I wondered how much things had changed.

"Masood!" I put a huge smile on my face and patted him on the shoulder as I walked passed him into the house. Game face on, ready to face the music.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Sorry for the delay. Found this chapter a bit hard to get right, apologies for crapness.  
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**Acknowledgments and thanks to Rhumba for letting me use a couple of her lines. Sorry I have gone in a rather different direction with them!**

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Zainab comes out of the kitchen and greets her son with genuine pleasure and delight, and I hear her pepper him with questions about whether he is eating properly, does he want to bring any clothes round for her to iron, and in a lower tone, apparently that I am not supposed to be able to hear, if I leave all the washing up for him to do. "I remember what he was like at Masala Queen, always forgetting to put the pans in to soak". The cheek of the woman! I swear she is saying that just to get a rise out of me, make me the bad guy, but I know her plan and pretend I haven't heard. At least she is showing that she misses Syed and cares about him. At the back of my mind I still hear Syed's tentative voice, hinting at unmentionable and unforgivable words in the past, but his voice is soon subdued by the reality of the crushing silence that occupies the space between Zainab and myself. Eventually, pressured by Syed's none-to-subtle looks and nudges she forces herself to acknowledge my presence.

"Christian." She mutters, voice dripping with that Zainab trademarked tone of disgust, irritation and boredom. Ha, I had decided on the way over how to play this, and settled for killing her with kindness. I am going to be the most pleasant, delightful, _charming_ guest they had ever had and I'll take great secret pleasure in watching her try to deal with that. So I leaned over and wrapped her in a huge hug.

"Zainab, always a pleasure!" And then, with my head next to her ear I whispered "mum". She gasped and pushed me away, looking ready to tear strips off me. A quick glance at Syed's face is enough to force her to regain composure, settling instead for an infuriated scowl as she walked, no _ran_, back into the kitchen. Syed shook his head at me but my stomach was already hurting from trying to hold in my laughter. If looks could kill I would be a very small and untidy heap of dust on the Masood floor by now. I smirked again as I followed Sy through the house. Looks like this meal may have it's benefits after all...

Walking into the dining room there were only 4 places laid out, and Kamil's highchair of course.

"No Tambo?" asked Syed, rather disappointedly, biting his lip. I get his disappointment. Tam comes round to ours sometimes, he has even stopped trying to avert his eyes from the bed in the corner, and he and Syed often meet up outside the flat, so it's not like he is missing seeing him but even so. I know Sy saw this dinner as being a sign that he was being properly reintegrated into his family. And that I was part of this too as 'the honorary Masood' or so he called me sometimes with his eyes twinkling with laughter. But without Tamwar here, it is evident that we are still in the very tentative 'lets just see if we can have one meal together without killing each other' stages. Which, to be fair, is all I would expect but Sy was so, so hopeful.

"He's….busy," was all Zainab had to say on the matter as she carried the food through. "Now, Syed you sit here, next to me, and _you, _you can sit here" and she pointed at the seat opposite Syed. "And no…..don't even think about…"

"Don't what?" I asked in my politest voice, admiring my skill in hiding my sniggers.

"Nothing" she backtracked and ran back into the kitchen. I saw the warning look from Sy and gave him my best 'butter wouldn't melt' impression.

* * *

The meal went quite well actually, well at least not as potentially awful as I had anticipated. I went for the full on charm offensive, praising everything to high heaven, ignoring or deliberately misunderstanding the inevitable Zainab jibes, while Syed and Masood sensibly kept out of it. Occasionally, out of the corner of my eye, I caught Masood looking at me, the emotions on his face still shrouded from view, just leaving me curious and more than a little uneasy, causing me to pause for a second or two before I could continue my all-out charm war.

After dinner I offered to help wash up but Zainab ushered me out a little _too _eagerly, I don't think she could cope with any more 'niceness' from me. I allow myself a brief victory smirk and move instead to the lounge where Syed is playing with Kamil. Standing in the doorway I watch them together, relishing in seeing Sy enjoy himself in such a natural and unaffected way. A way that I have often seen at home, with just the two of us, but that is sadly still too rare an occurance when we are outside the flat. But then, as I see Kamil giggle at the faces he is pulling, I can't help but feel my heart sinking a bit. I thought of mine and Syed's earlier comments about Zainab making me changing Kamil's nappies. It had been a joke, but that doesn't disguise the element of truth underneath. Truth be told, I would be happy to change his nappies. Well not all of them. But one or two. Or maybe just watching while Sy does them. Yeah, just being there, being a part of his family. I've barely seen Kamil since he was born, a tiny gunk covered baby, helpless and vulnerable. Seeing Sy like this with his brother makes me smile but makes my heart hurt all the same time. I know how much his family means to him, how much he has given up to be with me and it scares me. I see how happy he is, how natural, and I think of how much he wanted to be a father. He tells me now that it doesn't matter, but how can I believe that? He says that being with me is enough but I don't want _enough_ for him. I want the moon and stars for him and it kills me that I can't give him something that he has wanted all his life. Suddenly I feel uncomfortable and turn to leave but as the floorboards creak under my feet, Syed turns round to me with one of his killerwatt smiles on his face and what can I do but grin right back.

"Kamil, this is Christian, say hi." Kamil giggled and hid his head behind Syed. I know this game all right and lean across to one side to play peek a boo. He laughs more then totters away, rather unsteadily, and hides behind the curtains. I give chase and capture him, before deciding on playing Amy's favourite game when she was his age and spinning him round upside down, loving how his laughter moves from chuckles to manic shrieks.

"Stop it!" I slow down and turn with surprise to the doorway where Zainab stands, Masood silent standing behind her. "Now, please, just put him down, now." I stand, sad but not surprised and look at her face. She isn't angry, that I could cope with. No, the look on her face is pure fear and I shudder. Kamil, no respecter of feelings, is the only person in the room who isn't chilled to the bone by his mother's tone and continues to laugh but I turn him back round and give him to Sy.

"Mum, Kamil's having fun. He likes Christian. Just, why can't you let him be eh?" And it is obvious that Syed is no longer talking about Kamil.

"He could have dropped him, he's not used to children."

"Mum, don't be ridic—" I look at Sy and shake my head briefly, cutting him off in mid-sentence. I can't get over that look of fear on Zainab's face. Anger is one thing, something I am used to from her and can deal with. But that kind of fear, terror even, of me playing with her child, well _that_ I cannot deal with, and I don't want Syed to have to either. I think of him growing up in this house, growing up scared that one day he will see that look of fear on her face addressed at him, and I think of all those times I felt angry with him for not standing up to her, whether I told him or just thought it, and I remind myself to apologise to him as soon as we are alone.

"Zee. Stop this now. You have to accept things, we all do. Kamil was happy with Christian. Our son is happy with Christian. We have to trust him to take care of our son." I look shocked at Masood. Whatever I was expecting from tonight, that certainly wasn't it. We stand there, the four adults all hearing the none-too-subtle subtext, and all at a loss for what to say or do. Once again it is Masood who breaks the oppressive silence.

"Christian….you couldn't give me a hand in the kitchen could you?" Masood turned to me, his expression still unreadable. Damn that's annoying, I hate feeling so vulnerable simply by not having a clue what is going on in his mind. It's too reminiscent of the past with Sy. I turn to Syed, raise my eyebrows, wondering if he has a clue what is happening but he looks shell-shocked. So I shrug and follow Masood into the kitchen, tying to subtly check out opportunities to escape, while also checking that the knives and other sharp objects are well out of his reach. Can never be too careful.

We stand facing each other, across the kitchen table. I wait. I could wait all bloody day. I'm certainly not going to try to make things easier for him by talking first.

"Christian…..I'm…I….I don't know what to say. I just wanted to say, well, look, I shouldn't have done it okay? I shouldn't have left you like it, it was….wrong."

"Yeah it was." What? I'm not giving him any quarter. He hasn't even said _sorry_ yet.

"Yes I said it was wrong. I shouldn't have done it, I know that, I regret it, I really do."

"Oh really?" I say, failing completely to keep the scepticism out of my voice.

"I'm trying to apologise here!"

"Yeah? Well you're not trying very hard. You appear to be missing a rather important part of this 'apology'." Sarcasm now running freely through my words.

"I'M SORRY." He practically yells, before catching himself. He rubbed his hand across his forehead and repeated it again, calmer this time. "I'm sorry, I am. I was trying to find a way to forgive my son."

"What?" I am genuinely incredulous. There are so many things wrong with his sentence I can't even find where to begin. I stare at Masood in total confusion.

"I really wanted to forgive Syed, I did." I can't bear to hear anymore and butt in.

"_Forgive_ him, what the fuck?"

"Christian, _please_, just let me say this please. He had committed a sin—"

"and leaving someone bleeding on the street is perfectly fine?" I can't help but interject here. I hate this hypocritical bullshit.

"I never said I was perfect Christian. And regardless of what you think about sins, he had cheated on his wife and lied to his family. Even you can't say that there is no wrong there. I was so angry with him, but I wanted to forgive him, I wanted to keep my family together. And all I could hear was you _boasting _about you seducing him, boasting about sleeping with him in the flat he was supposed to be preparing for his new life with his _wife_, treating it like a joke in the Vic."

I bite my lip and look away, as he continues. Yeah that was one of my major fuckups I admit. I want to interrupt and explain, defend myself, defend us, but I know it is pointless right now. I feel bad enough about how I messed that up. Anyway, I kind of want to hear what he has to say. Now that enough time has passed, now that I know that Syed is with me for keeps, now I want to hear exactly what Masood thinks of me, of us. It's not even just because I want Syed to be happy with his parents again. I used to be friends, of a sort, with Masood and now I am so confused about what he sees. I want to know how come he can't see the clearest thing in the world to me, can't see that his son is happier than ever, can't see that we are not some obscene and grotesque aberration.

"And you wrecked our standing in the community, made us the object of gossip for all to see, storming in to our house, to our _mosque_. You don't understand anything of how we are, what is important to us. We were trying to sort things out, to fix things on the day of the party, but no, you know best. I hated you Christian, for hurting the family and for taking my son away when I had only just got him back." I had been pacing round the kitchen, biting my tongue and letting my anger and unspoken words come out through my feet instead, but I couldn't let this go.

"I didn't _take_ him, you rejected him, you sent him away. I never wanted it to be a battle between you and me, it never should have been. You made it so, it was you that forced him out. And he is gay. I thought you understood that by now. I didn't turn him or magically make him fancy men with the power of my thoughts. He's not weak, he's not suggestible, he's gay. All I did was fall in love with him. And thank fuck he loves me too." I make to leave, grabbing the handle on the kitchen door, but Masood reaches for my shoulder and halts me in my tracks.

"You didn't make him gay, but you made him leave his wife and his family. You can't pretend that you had no influence over him. I've never told Syed this but I know now that there are men, in the mosque, who have had similar, err, issues, but have resisted temptation and found other consolations. Keeping their family, staying in the community, having children….. Syed could have been like them, could have had what they have, if he hadn't have met you. It could have been enough."

"And that's what you wanted for your son? Consolations?"

"I wanted to keep my family. Do you think it was easy losing him again?"

"And again with the 'losing', poor Masood, poor poor Masood, such a victim in all this." I shake my head, trying to shake the stupidity I was hearing out of my brain. "But let's have a quick rewind shall we…you hate me, you want to protect Sy, and by protect you mean try and destroy the most beautiful soul I have ever seen and leave him bereft but we'll gloss over that shall we, so what was that all about with Zainab and that so-called _apology_? I don't get you Masood, I don't get you at all." I've had just about enough of this, I want to leave, I want to go home with Sy, back to the flat where we can just be normal again, without all this crap that we never seem able to leave behind. I want it to just be us again. I'll string Sy up before he agrees to another of these bloody family meals.

"I need my family back. All of my family. And if that means I have to make my own compromises then I will. I mean it Christian." There is a steely tone to his voice that I don't recognise. I look to see determination set firm in his face.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for the way you treated Sy, the way you made him feel. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust you either. Qadim may have been the one to get me beaten up, but you have blood on your hands too Masood. You left me to die, and I can't just get over that—"

An third voice sounds incredulous behind us and we both jump startled. Syed is standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and pained. Shit. After all my attempts to keep that pained look from reappearing, it is me that has brought it back.

"You left him? After Qadim….? And you lecture me on my sins? And you," Sy turns to face me, his voice quivering slightly with emotion, "you never told me? After everything, after all we have been through, you never told me. I thought you were different. I thought you trusted me with the truth."

The hurt in his voice sends arrows of pain shooting into my stomach. "Sy…." I call weakly but he has already turned and is walking out, his parting words filtering back over his shoulder.

"I just need to be on my own for a bit Christian, I'll see you later."

Guiltily I'll admit to feeling slightly mollified by his lack of farewell to his father, who is standing in silence, staring with me at the now closed front door. As I leave too, hoping vainly that Syed might just be waiting outside the front door for me, I hear Zainab's interminable voice chastising her husband.

"See Mas, I told you you shouldn't let _that man_ come round here, that it would only lead to trouble. And you tried to apologise to him? What has got into you Masood? I hope you have learnt your lesson this time…"

The front door slams behind me. I stare at the busy but Syed-less square and put my head in my hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN Sorry, my chapters seem to be getting exponentially longer! **

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* * *

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It's funny, the way the world resolutely refuses to stop turning just because I think it ought.

I'm sitting on the wall outside the Masoods' house, watching the flow of people on the street ahead of me, listening to the cries, the arguments, the laughter, the ebb and flow of life all continuing while my head is stuck in a repeat of the last half hour. Sy's face, his words, filling my head and heart with a horribly familiar mix of fear, sadness, love, pain and doubt. I don't know why this has paralysed me so; we have had enough arguments to fill an epic novel, and they always end in the same way, apologies, forgiveness, a reminder of the love that runs frantically through our veins even through the worst moments, and gorgeous lovemaking allowing our bodies to apologise and understand in a way that our words may always fall short of. The memories of making up with Sy are enough to bring a smile temporarily to my face. But it soon departs, as for some reason that I am either unwilling or unable to figure out, I don't know which, there is something about this recent scene that worries me more than it ought. And I am selfishly irritated by the refusal of the rest of the world to acknowledge my confusion and pain. But hasn't it always been this way? Sy and me, existing below the surface of everyone else's reality. Mundane life continued and never knew of the power and passion that was surging just below. And while most of the most gorgeous memories that even now cause my heart to beat faster occurred in the privacy of the four walls of my flat, there are still many that came under the unknowing and uncaring eyes of the rest of the world. The banality of everyday transformed into radiant splendour for our eyes only. I can see him now, his back to his parents, telling me what I had longed to hear for so long, that he was coming home with me. Shit, I'm a fucking selfish idiot. Sitting here feeling sorry for myself when Sy must be feeling awful. He could well be at the flat already, waiting for me, all while I am sitting outside his fucking parents' house, _wallowing_.

I jump to my feet and head to the flat, planning out what I'll say, trying to guess what mood Sy will be in, the thoughts running through my head faster than my feet hitting the ground. Taking the stairs two at a time, door swinging open, keys thrown on the table, the sound echoing round the empty flat.

Oh.

My birthday card to Syed is still sitting on the side, some fucking birthday. The sight of the messed up bedsheets, a reminder of the our happiness only a few short hours ago, now serves only to make my heart sink even further and I slump on the sofa. Then, without really knowing what I am doing, I find myself walking to the spare room, opening the wardrobe and mentally taking stock of the clothes within. Checked shirts side by side with polo shirts. Gym clothes sharing a shelf with bright t-shirts. Then the bathroom, and on seeing two toothbrushes on the side I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding. What was I thinking? I thought I was over this. I haven't had this feeling for ages now. This silent fear, this nagging, gnawing ache at the bottom of my stomach that my treacherous heart is told to forgot but refuses to ignore. It didn't happen at first. I mean, even the most doubting of hearts could see the bravery and sincerity of the moment when he left his parents, his home, his _life_ and then think that he would leave again when times got hard. But then, suddenly, unexpectedly, when that first tentative contact between father and son was made and not completely rejected, the unease that my conscious brain had forgotten about was revived.

* * *

It was the silence that gave it away. That was all I noticed at first. Not just the absence of the more obtrusive sounds; no tunes from the radio, no TV chattering away in the background, but also the more subtle and familiar sounds that now spelt out home to me. No rustling of pages turning as he reads on the sofa, no out of tune whistling as he pops the kettle on, no slight sniggers or concerned hums as he checks out stuff on the internet. I scanned round the flat, spotting the missing items while my mind screamed _no no no no please Sy no_. No book, folded open halfway through resting on the side, no trainers sitting untidily by mine, no ipod lying by the bed. No Syed. The half-empty wardrobe confirmed what I hadn't needed to be told. When my last gasp, the post-its on the fridge, merely stared insolently back at me, their cheery yellow blankness mocking my darkness, I collapsed to the floor. The ceiling spun. My stomach retched. My eyes squeezed tightly shut. I gasped for breath.

My eyes flew open. The comforting warm darkness of the night greeted me. A gentle snore to my side and the sweetness of shared body warmth welcomed me back. I stretched one hand out to stroke his hair, pushing the damp locks back from his forehead and behind his ears, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal and my breathing coming easier as I relaxed back into the soft sheets.

Nightmares. _A_ nightmare. Singular. One-off.

* * *

But it wasn't. Every so often I'd awake with damp palms and a racing heart. And then in daytime, wide awake, I would sometimes catch up myself alone in the flat idly checking clothes, toiletries, books. Keeping count, checking, fearing that one day, if I wasn't careful, it would all go and I would be alone. I hate myself for it, I know Sy would hate it, see it as a lack of trust. It's hardly like I genuinely think he is about to go running back home if they asked him, as if all it is keeping him here is his lack of options. There is no concrete basis to this foreboding, just that stupid nagging reminder of how much I have to lose. It just turns out that when Sy introduced me to the sheer bloody beauty of loving someone and being loved in return, he inadvertently brought along love's not so fair friends, that fickle insecurity and silent dread.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the last elements of anxiety. I need a fucking drink. I scrawl a message on the pad on the fridge, telling Syed I've gone to R&R and that I'll be back soon. I pause for a moment and add an apologetic PS before heading out of the door. I dunno, he might get more pissed off at me for not being in when he gets back but I'm going to drive myself mad if I stay indoors. And the Vic is no good. I need loud music to shut off the voices in my head.

One pint down and I am feeling shittier. The music and alcohol has failed to dampen my confused self-absorbed thoughts and if I stay much longer I risk becoming a real self-pitying disaster. I gulp the last mouthfuls of my beer down, trying to ignore the prescence of someone standing behind me. _Not in the fucking mood mate_, I think to myself.

"Fancy some company?" The voice from behind startles me. I pause, returning my empty glass to the table. _Well actually_...

"Depends. Are you going to buy me a drink?"

"Is that the way you work? I don't think so. You're getting the pleasure of my company, you buy the drinks."

"What and you'll make it worth my while? Is your company that good?"

"Haven't had any complaints yet"

"Well, in that case…" I pull out the chair next to me. "Take a seat. What can I get you?"

"Surprise me." I lean across the bar and catch the barman's eye.

"Another pint and an orange juice, please mate."

"Not much of a surprise there then"

"Well you don't know which one is yours yet." Syed merely raises his eyebrows at me in response. "Call it a double bluff? Anyway, I happen to know that the orange juice here is top notch. None of your Minute Mart crap. It's got bits in it and everything."

Finally Syed laughs slightly. Not much but enough to make my heart jump a little. "Wow, bits in it. You do look after me don't you." His voice trails off and he bites his lip as he looks away. The cheerier mood has evaporated completely and we sit, nursing our drinks, an oppressive silence surrounding us. It isn't unusual for us to be silent for a while but this is painfully different. It isn't the companionable silence, working together in the kitchen or sitting on the sofa, taking pleasure merely in the secure knowledge of each other's company and love. Nor is it the frantic intense silence that we sometimes find when making love, when our bodies share wordless exclamations and tell each other unvoiced truths. And it is far from being the blissful silence that comes afterwards, when the pressing of dampened skin on skin, the slow catching of much needed breath and the mutual smiles on flushed sated faces reveal all without saying anything. These are the silences that we relish in, that feed our love. They are silences where words are unnecessary, not like this. This ominous silence, a silence because words are only too necessary, and the stress of finding the right words paralyses us. I steal a glimpse to my right, Syed is looking intently at his drink, like orange juice provides the keys to the universe, or at least the key to us. He must sense my eyes on him, the way I always sense his on me as he turns his head, teeth teasing his bottom lip, utter sadness in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me Christian?" He barely manages to get the words out. God, the look in his eyes. I want to rescue him, to take away that desolate look. But the realisation hits me again, that I am the one responsible for making him look like that. That my attempts to protect him from the world outside our paradisiacal cocoon are to blame for the despair that now coats his beautiful features.

"Shall we go home, we can talk about it there." I go to grab my coat off the back of the chair but Syed shakes his head.

"No, I want to stay here."

"We need to talk." I urge.

"I know that, but not at home. I want to talk here. It's easier." He looks away again and inhales deeply before turning back to me. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"When, Sy? When it happened and you weren't there? When you came back and we barely spoke?" The words come tumbling out of my mouth and I curse myself when I see Syed wince. I know I'm not being fair but all of this has just brought up feelings that I had hoped were left firmly in the past. My voice softens. "And later, when we got together, everything was so fucking perfect, when could I tell you?"

"How about when I asked you Christian? When I asked you point blank if my dad had been involved? How about then? You could have told me if you had wanted to, you know you could. But you chose not to. Why?"

"I didn't want you to get hurt, Sy. _That's_ why. Because back then everything was a massive heap of shit and that was just another part of it. And I didn't see what good it would do, telling you. I mean, it could hardly make anything better, just make you feel even worse and put you in an even crapper position. I was trying to protect you, Sy."

"But that's just it, Christian. You can't just decide what is better for me, decide whether it is best for me to know or not know, treating me like a fucking child. We're supposed to be a team, but you feel like you need to keep things from me. Because I am too pathetic to deal with them? Because you don't trust me?" His voice catches at the end and I am desperate to grab him and hold him. I realise that this is probably the singularly most inappropriate thing to do right now, and that this is what he is wanting to avoid by us talking about it here. Instead I grip tighter on the edge of the bar as he stares even more intently at the contents of his glass.

"Shit, Sy, no. I do trust you, that's not it at all. I just….look this was the worst way for you to hear about it okay, and this is what I didn't want. I wanted to move on, to look to the future."

"A future based on you lying to me?"

"I didn't lie."

"You didn't tell me the truth. I need us to be different Christian." He pauses again, sips at his orange juice, swallows then looks away again as he continues. "I've always had my parents treat me like a kid, mum was bad but dad was worse. Always thinking that I couldn't be trusted to do anything right. That he needed to step in to sort everything out. Sending me away like he did, and then not telling mum because that was _for the best_." The pain in his voice is now tinged with an added layer of sarcasm. "You and me Christian, it can't be like that. You can't always protect me." Finally he looks back at me. "I know you didn't mean it, but it hurts to think that you couldn't trust me with this. That you think I couldn't handle it. When I heard you and my dad talking about stuff that you had tried to keep secret from me, well it just makes me feel like you see me in the same way as him, like some stupid kid."

"That's not it. Not it at all." I lean across the gap between our barstools and grab his hand. I need him to hear this. "Look at me Sy, look at me. I want to do what is best for you, so that you are happy. Because I want you to be happy, because after everything you bloody deserve to be happy alright? And sometimes I fuck up and I cause you more pain and that fucking _kills_ me Sy, because I love you, I love you so bloody much and I've never felt like this and I lost you so many times and I started to give up but I was wrong because you pulled me back and I see our lives now and I don't want anything, _anything_, or anyone to ruin that. Especially not me. But it hurts me too yeah, to think of all this again, to remember…" I trail off, not wanting to break down completely and silence again falls between us, both seemingly caught up in our own unpleasant recollections. But our hands are still held tightly in each others grip and there is a kind of relief entering the tension-soaked air.

"I'm so sorry for what my dad did." Syed's voice is quiet, almost as if he is holding back tears, but still for me it drowns out the thumping music, the raucous laughter, the clinks of glasses on tables. Once again it is me and him and everything else fades to nothing. My heart aches.

"Sy, no. Please. You have nothing to be sorry about."

"If I had stayed…..it should have been me Christian, it was me that Qadim wanted, me that he should have punished, not you." He is looking at me but I know he isn't seeing me now, but seeing me then. The cuts and bruises on my face, my bitter words in his ear. I know he is and I can feel it all too, like it happened yesterday not months ago. I shake my head, trying to find the right words.

"Sy….I have been thankful every day that it wasn't you." I bring my free hand up to his face and gently push a lock of hair behind his ear, allowing myself the pleasure of smoothing my thumb down his cheek as I do so. "I'd take that beating a hundred times over if it meant you were okay." I pause. The intensity of Syed's gaze at me sends shockwaves through my body and threatening to make me loose all remnants of control. "Have I ruined your birthday?" I ask, in a vague attempt to bring us back on an even keel. He recognises my attempt and plays along.

"Ah well, it can join the list then. I haven't been known for my great luck with birthdays recently." He smiles ruefully at me, a smile that I return to him with interest.

"I dunno, your last one had its moments surely?" His eyes lower temporarily then return to meet my gaze, but darker and even more intense.

"Certainly did." He murmurs in reply. "And this one isn't over yet…" His tone is hard to miss, and the halfmoons imprinted on my palm from his short nails testify the same.

"Shall we..?" I gesture with my head to the door and he leaps up, pulling me out of my seat as well, our hands gripped together tight.

The flat door slams behind us, his hands already pulling at the buttons on my shirt, tugging at the zip on my trousers, as I push him back through the flat. Our clothes are ripped apart, hands, mouths and teeth all grabbing hold of the newly exposed flesh. We half walk, half fall until Syed's back hits the pillar by the kitchen and brings us to a halt. Barely pausing for breath, he grabs my head in his hands and brings it to him. No leave given or taken on either side as our mouths collide, a wild kiss that tells more of hunger than of finesse, that forces our bodies closer and tighter, as if we are attempting to fuse them together. As if we are reliving our bad memories, all those times when we felt dragged apart and now, now we need to prove to ourselves that all that is over, to make sure that we are together. The touch of our bodies seeks to reassure our doubtful minds. Our hands move downwards in unison, both reaching for the other, moaning cravenly into our shared mouths as fingers stroke to mutual satisfaction. Frantic and desperate and needy and good in a way that I haven't felt for ages. It's not just lust, not like at the beginning. Although even back then I couldn't write it off as pure animal want, there was always something, something that haunted my nights and toyed with my days. But this, no this is love. It's just not the happy, tender sweetness of lovemaking, but the flipside, the need and the frenzy and the recklessness, the sheer bloody desperation of it all. All too fast I could feel myself falling, my movements become more erratic and stuttered, as I gasped and gripped and sank into the sweetest of oblivions that Syed alone leads me too. He comes soon after, pulling away from our ferocious kiss to breathe my name. I stare at him now as he leans prone against the pillar, his hair mussed up, his lips swollen and bruised from kisses and bites, his chest heaving as he struggles for breath. I never tire of seeing him like this, looking so lost to the world but yet so contented and sated in my embrace. A look that has long found me weak and undone.

* * *

"I think there's someone watching."

I moved my hand to his chin and lightly tilted his head back to face mine, my fingers shaking with pent up desire and need. He stands in front of me, gasping for breath, his eyes half shadowed by hair but still shining at me in the darkness.

"You worry too much. Come 'ere." and I reached for him, needing that taste that I had been craving for so long. I captured his lips in mine, my tongue instinctively searching, and finding, the bittersweet tang at the back of his mouth, moving my hands to graze slowly up his side. You hear drug addicts talk about seeking the perfect fix, always looking for that feeling that they got the very first time they took a hit, that feeling that takes you away from everything else. Well Syed Masood is certainly my perfect fix, every fucking time makes me feel like the first, like nothing else on this earth. When we reluctantly parted for air, I stared at the sight in front of me. Syed, looking up at me from under heavy-lidded eyes, a lazy smile stretched across his face as he leant against the wall, looking as if his legs wouldn't bear his weight. I love that, his appearance of submission so at odds with the subtle strength of his slender frame, a strength to which I have often been a willing victim. I stroked my hand down his hair and along his neck, the pinpricks of his stubble rubbing against the soft pads on my fingertips.

"We can't carry on like this" I murmured, watching how his eyes fluttered shut as I smoothed across the tender spot at his collarbone, edging my way above his collar, .

"No…" His head tipped back, allowing more access to the skin, flirting temptingly above his t-shirt.

"I need this, Sy, I've missed you so much." I leant forward and licked the path that my fingers had led, breathing in the heady mix of scents found in the nape of his neck.

"Me too." He sighed, his fingers fiddling with the buttons on my shirt and caressing my chest, while my own ran lower, pressing against the hardness in his jeans, loving the sound of the growl in his throat as I did so.

"You do want this don't you?" His eyes burst open and fixed me with his intense open gaze, showing me everything if only I was willing to see it.

"You _know_ I do." And I sank lost again into his darkness, treasuring the honesty of the affection I found there and trying to ignore the fear and the shame that then seemed to come hand in hand. I did want him and needed him, properly, no hiding in alleys. And I needed him right now.

"Give me twenty minutes and come to the flat." I leant back in and kissed him, trying to show him everything, everything that I have said and haven't said. His eager response, his soft lips pressing tight against mine, his hand on the back of my neck pulling me nearer all tipped me closer to the edge. Pulling away and gasping I ran my fingers through his hair and whispered against his ear. "Make it fifteen."

* * *

It was the next day before I realised that he had taken my words at face value, that again I was a lovesick fool to try to ignore the unpleasant truth that was written plainly in his eyes in favour of what I wanted to hear. Now, months later, I refuse to do the same. I brush his hair from out of his ears and meet his gaze, facing up to the pain laced all the way through.

"Oh _Sy_" I moan, bringing him closer to me until we are holding each other, gripping the dishevelled mess of our clothes, holding on so tight as if we fear a looser grip might cause the other to disappear from our grasp. This isn't over, not by a long shot.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Sorry for the loooong wait before updating. And then updating with a chapter where not much happens! The next few are all kind of mapped out so hopefully it won't be too long before updating again (although what with it being Christmas, I'm not making any promises!)  
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* * *

Weeks pass. Life continues as normal, we work, we eat, we sleep, we make love, he prays. We talk, of inconsequential matters, but hanging in the air are memories of the past, memories that we had thought were behind us. Since we got together, _properly _got together, we swore in word and deed that we would start afresh, that nothing could be gained from revisiting old haunts and poking at barely healed wounds. But apparently no one saw fit to pass this message on to the rest of the world, and as part of our new life was to live in the world, not hide from it, we have been dragged back into hurt. Neither of us say it, but I know we both feel it, reminders of when we thought that we could never find our way back to each other, stuck crawling through a darkened maze of despair.

We touch, even more than before, seemingly needing the physical reminder of reality to prove that we are both here, we are together. When we hug, we hold each other for just that extra moment. When we kiss, our fingers grip tighter, our bodies refuse to part. Even our casual parting farewell leads inevitably to something longer, deeper, answering some unconscious and conscious need. When we make love, it is often more of the frantic, desperate fucking that we found on Sy's birthday and that we enjoyed so frequently in the past, when logic and sense were overwhelmed by the desperate desire to find oblivion in each other's bodies. At other times, we move as if in slow motion. Time is at a standstill when we seek our salvation in our bed. But even then it is the intensity that drives us on. Our life together has often seen us revelling in the previously unknown delights of taking our time, relishing the pleasure that comes from knowing that there is nowhere else we need to be, no-one to destroy our perfect idyll. Yet over these past weeks this seems to have been forgotten, as instead we seem forced to return to an island of insecurity, where hands claw at all available flesh, constantly reaching and searching for more and more and more. There is never enough, we are never completely at ease, we can never let go for fear that we might find ourselves dragged apart again. And afterwards, even in our sleep we cannot escape the demons of the past.

It's stupid, it really wasn't that big a thing, we've been through much worse and barely experienced half of this pain, but for some reason it is this that has evoked old ghosts and aroused hidden fears. Fears that we have been trying to hide from each other, from ourselves. At night they escape into my confused dreams, producing a nonsensical mix of irrational fears and hurtful memories; of fists punching bruises on my body, of words stabbing wounds in my heart, of cold empty streets in the rain, of cold empty beds in the night, those gut churning pangs of loneliness and pain. They seem to be running riot within Syed's mind too, as often when I wake in the middle of the night, shaking and exhausted, I hear his voice murmuring anxious half-formed words of distress and panic, pleas and muffled sobs. I do what I can to smooth the sweat dampened locks back on his head, pressing my kisses into his scalp with promises of my presence until both of us fall back into some kind of peace.

But there is one benefit to these restless nights, as when they end, when the bright light of day forces its penetrating rays through my tightly closed eyes, then I get to wake to him. There is that first initial moment of doubt, when the shadows threaten to overwhelm the sun, but then with a murmur, a stroke, and a smell of musky scent, I let the brightness relieve my troubled mind. These recent mornings have been almost like reliving one of the most amazing mornings of my life, when my life started anew, when it felt like the past had finally been washed away with the fall of the fresh summer dew.

* * *

It had been an amazing night, a gorgeous reunion of body, heart and soul, but once dawn arrived I was full of uncertainty again.

I had dreamt of waking up with him in my bed for so many months and so rarely did I ever get the pleasure. And on those few occasions, whether from innocence or stupidity I don't know, I had failed to take advantage. I let him wake alone, each time imagining that this time he would stay beyond the cries of the Walford dawn chorus, the emptying of bins, the cries of market traders, the bustle of life returning to the square. But that morning, my brain ran wild with the knowledge that he was here and he was mine and we would be waking together the next day, the next week, the next month, the next year. The very idea excited me beyond anything I thought I could feel, and I was determined not to let another second be wasted. I lay there with eyes shut, savouring the feel of him sprawled over me, his chest rising and falling with steady ease. A bubble of untarnished joy rose up inside me, flooding my heart with rapture, causing the edges of my mouth to turn upward in an uncontrollable grin of sheer undiluted happiness.

"What are you so happy about?" A sleepy murmur came from underneath me and I opened my eyes to see a mass of tousled locks that fell over brown eyes, but failed to obscure the radiance that shone from them, the radiance that made my stomach flip.

"You. You're here." I tilted his chin letting his hair fall away from his eyes. He shifted up the bed until we were lying face to face.

"Yep. And I'm not going anywhere." Syed had spoken these exact words the night before. And I had believed him then. He had looked me in the eye, I had seen the way he had walked away from his parents. My head believed in him and had no doubts. My heart however, well my heart wanted desperately to believe but the past few months had left some scars and it let the vicious daggers of fear keep nudging unwelcomingly at the edges. But that morning, when I stared at Syed's eyes, I saw something new in there, a kind of peace that I had never quite seen before, and finally my heart allowed itself to fall completely at his mercy once again.

Our lips fell together, warmth caressing against warmth, as slow deliberate kisses began and finished and continued. Our hands moved from hair to neck, from smoothing over an arm to tracing along a spine, until we reached below and slowly, oh so fucking slowly, our fingers and fists combined around hardened cocks, moving and pumping in tune with the gasping moans that fell between kisses. As desire run riot through wanton bodies, our lips drew apart to gulp for much needed oxygen. Our eyes opened, lazily at first, then wider as we stared into each other's gaze, watching the way pupils dilate with lust, flicker with desire, shimmer with happiness. Teeth dug into kiss swollen lips while fevered gasps brushed waves of heat onto sensitised skin. And as our tempo increased, eyelids flickered, bodies shook until with the familiar sweet cry that I dreamt of sometimes in my darkest nights, he came, sending me too over the edge and into abandoned bliss.

We didn't speak, there are no words sufficient for what he does to me, what I do to him. We merely lay in each other's embrace, promising each other the world with the silent vows of our body and the sacred pledge of our eyes. I stared at him and all I saw was us.

* * *

Now this morning, nearly a year later, I let myself wake slowly, I let my eyes absorb the splendour of his slender form that the folds of the duvet cannot hope to disguise. I let my hand dwell in his hair, stroking gently so as not to disturb his rest. My heart fills with a familiar aching pleasure that I ought to be accustomed to by now, but that still catches me unawares with its force. I lean forward, press a soft kiss into his shoulder and go to rise from the bed. But before my foot has barely touched the floor, a warm arm emerges from under the covers and grabs my wrist.

"Hey, where are you going?" His words are half muffled by the pillow but unmistakable in meaning.

"Didn't want to wake you up. Why don't you get back to sleep, while I make us some coffee."

His head rises slightly, revealing a Syed-shaped dent in the pillow below him, his face scrunched into a slight frown. "Come back here." He pulls at my wrist and I happily comply, falling heavily beside him.

"Better?" I query, stroking my fingers down his face. As they reach his lips he opens his mouth and nips at the fingertips, before reaching up and pulling my hand down below the duvet to find him aroused, hard, perfect.

"_Much_ better." He grins at me, settling himself on his back, my hand still gripped around him.

"You're insatiable, Syed Masood." I reply, filling my mind with the glorious sight of him lying so open, so free, and waiting for me.

"Or maybe you're just getting old, past it, out of your prime." His eyes widen with mock innocence yet twinkle with mischief. My Sy, so perfectly sweet and deliciously dirty all at the same time, and no-one else but me will ever know. But there _are_ limits, and some impudence needs to be punished.

I roll on top of him, pinning him to the bed, watching with delight as he gulps desperately, his eyes so darkened with desire as to turn almost completely black. "Past it?" I ask, my eyebrows raised. "I think you'll find I am very much in my prime."

"Oh…yeah?" He stutters as I lower my head to his, our bodies pressed together, feeling his muscles tense underneath me, his heart pounding through his chest.

"Want me to prove it to you?" My tongue licks a line along his jaw, over the pulse in his neck, back up behind his ear.

"Mmmmm…I think you should. Otherwise I might want to trade y- ohhhhh" His sentence is cut off with a cry as my teeth take his lobe with a sharp tender bite and his body curves instinctively further into mine.

"Really? Well in that case, I'll have to see what I can do." I move even nearer, pushing his body down further into the firm mattress below. "I bet I can make you scream." I whisper into his ear, and as he gasps I move swiftly down the bed, dragging my tongue down his supine form, feeling the warmth and savouring the tang of his sleepy scent. I find his cock, and take it all in my mouth, feeling him fill me, feeling the weight of him on my tongue, listening to his hiss of pure pleasure. I follow his cries, he responds to my movements. I lick along his length, he moans long and hard. My tongue runs over his head, taking in every drop of taste, his voice purrs low with uncontrollable delight, running his hands over my hair, his blunt nails scratching along my scalp. My hands grip his hips, holding him still on the bed, forcing him to acquiesce to my actions and my speed, letting me take my time to taste all of him. His fingers tighten, his legs tense, his body begins to shiver and his voice, quiet but distinct, comes across to me, whispering words that thrill my heart.

"I'm yours. I've always been yours. I'll never be anyone else's."

And with that I finally release my grip on his hips, giving him free rein to fuck my mouth with abandon, letting me add a finger to my mouth, wet it as it strokes him and then trails behind to enter him. As my finger curves back, he thrusts himself further into me, his body a mass of shuddering muscles, his fingers gripping my head tighter than ever, before finally he submits, coming hard with a desperate cry, my name falling from his lips with shameless glory.

He drops back onto the bed, his hands loosening but remaining at my head, softly stroking back my hair, finding the sides of my face and gently urging me back up to him. He looks….stunning. And stunned too, to be honest. He lies, satisfaction practically dripping from every pore, a sated smile spread broadly across his relaxed face. His whole body speaks of gratified lust and desire, so libidinous, so glorious and so so fucking gorgeous. I press a soft kiss onto his lips, running my tongue over the remnants of bite marks left by his passion.

"So? Gonna trade me in then?" I tease.

He grins back lazily at me. "Nah, I think you'll do for quite a while yet."

We lie like this, exchanging lazy long leisurely kisses, and my heart sings as the familiar comfort of contentment and certainty in love overwhelms all those recently re-found fears. Eventually our kisses slow and we pull apart, resting our foreheads against each other, smiling.

"I was thinking I could make you breakfast." I murmur, stroking my thumb over his full but tired lips. "Something decadent and posh, smoked salmon and poached eggs on toasted muffins with hollandaise sauce."

"Oooh, are we too posh for a fry up in the caff nowadays?"

"Yep. That is waaaay below us. Also, last time I was in there I had to hide under a table when a client popped in. It doesn't really make my healthy living spiel sound good if their personal trainer is tucking in to a full English."

Syed laughed, his eyelids dropping shut. "Sounds good anyway." He yawned. "Wake me up when it's ready." I smiled, placed a final kiss on his forehead, before rolling off the bed and getting dressed. He is asleep before I finish doing up my flies. Nothing like a bit of morning indulgence to send you off to sweet dreams I guess, but I am _ravenous_.

...

The air was crisp and fresh as I walked back from the Minute Mart. One of those summer mornings when you feel like you can climb a hundred mountains before breakfast, like you could burst into song and dance at any moment, like there is nothing in the world that could kill the glorious buzz that rushed through your veins.

"Christian!"

Or maybe not. Shit. I turn around to face Masood, jogging up behind me, his post bag hitting the back of his legs awkwardly. We haven't seen each other since Sy's birthday. I'd gathered from suddenly cancelled calls and angry mutters when getting texts that Syed had not been in contact either, despite Masood's attempts.

"Yep?" I ask, not waiting for him to catch his breath.

"I was, erm, wondering how errr Syed was today?" He pants, looking awkward and uneasy.

I pause, tempted for a second to go for the literal truth. _Asleep in a bliss filled post orgasmic afterglow, having just had one of the best blowjobs of his life twenty minutes ago. Don't imagine he'll regain the power of his legs for quite a while yet nor manage to wipe that grin off his face for even longer. _"Fine." I reply instead.

"Has he…..has he said anything about me?"

"Nope." And I make to leave, but he grabs my arm.

"Christian, please. I just want to talk to him. And he won't answer my calls…."

"Look," I sigh, "I'm sure he will in time okay. Now I've got to go."

"You couldn't just pass a message on from me could you?"

I roll my eyes at him and shift the increasingly heavy bag of shopping into my other hand. "What am I? Saint Christian? Give me one good reason why I should do anything to help you?" Masood stands there, silent, his mouth opening as if to reply but then closing again, no words available. I look at him, and see the dark shadows under his eyes, the frown lines etched deeper in his forehead and suddenly he looks really old. A small burble of something like pity wells up in me, I don't know what it is, maybe just the recognition that maybe he actually does miss Sy, and damn if I don't know enough how it feels to be without him due to your own stupidity. And maybe because some of this morning's bliss is still coursing merrily through my veins, I can't bring myself to cut him off quite as harshly as I had planned. "Look, you ignored him for months and months, and now you are getting antsy about a couple of weeks? It's _Sy_,he'll talk to you sometime, even if you don't deserve it." I turn round and walk back to the flat.

"I miss him." He calls out behind me, catching me off-guard, but I keep walking, wondering.

...

When I come back into the flat, Syed has stirred as far as the kitchen, wearing my dressing gown as he pops the kettle on. I move up behind him, drawing him in for a tight hug, one of my hands slipping inside the dressing gown to stroke his warm skin.

"Oy, your hands are freezing!" He gasps, leaning his head round for a kiss which I readily oblige.

As I start sorting out the shopping I turn my head to him. I pause for a minute, not wanting to disturb the happiness that we have recovered this morning, but at the same time I don't want to keep things from him anymore.

"Sy, I saw your dad just now."

I begin to regret saying anything when I see him freeze slightly, the happiness of earlier subsiding. "Was he awful to you?" He asks quietly, concerned.

"No, no not at all. He said, well he said he missed you and wanted to see you."

"Huh, right." Syed shrugs.

"I think he really meant it." I continue, turning my attention to breaking the eggs into the saucepan.

I can sense Syed's confusion from behind me. "Wait, Christian are you trying to encourage me to see him? After everything you're not seriously going to start advocating for him? Have I woken up in Bizzaro World?"

"No, trust me, the day I start advocating for him will be the day you can finally ship me off in one of those stylish jackets with the extra long arms. I just, well I just thought you ought to know that he did look upset. And I worry about you, I know how much you miss your family and how keen you were to get back involved recently. And now that's all gone to shit." I stirred the pan vigorously, taking some frustration out on the innocent eggs.

I feel the warmth of slender arms sneaking round my waist and a head resting on my shoulder.

"Look Christian, I did miss my family, I still do. But my dad he doesn't want _me _in the family. Not the real me. He wants the old family back, with the old Syed. It's not even that I am gay or with you that he has the real issue with. It's that I don't always put him and mum first anymore. That's what he wants, the Syed who was ready to let everything else go for their sakes. I nearly lost everything doing that, I nearly lost myself." He halts, painfully, and I turn, wondering where this conversation will be heading, whether he can finally bring himself to tell me everything now. But he is fiddling with a loose thread on the dressing gown and doesn't meet my eyes. "He still thinks of me as that weak child of his. I can't be that Syed again, and when I think he has finally accepted that, then I'll speak to him." He leans up to me, looking me in the eyes once more. "But I need to put you, and me, first, just for a change."

Our lips find each other, pressing gently then firmer, tongues now chasing each other as the kiss deepens, his hands gripping at my top, stroking the tight fabric, whilst mine sneak back inside his dressing gown, finding a far more receptive response this time.

Suddenly the acrid smell of smoke hits my noise and just as my lust addled brain begins to kick into gear, the angry beeping of the smoke alarm starts echoing round the small flat.

"Shit, the eggs!" We break away and I grab the now blackened saucepan, cursing as I throw it into the sink, frantically opening windows to let out the smoke.

"Looks like it is hiding under tables in the caff for you after all." Syed laughs, darting swiftly out of the way of the tea-towel that I am brandishing and diving into the spare room to get dressed. I smile at the sight of his retreating form then turn my attention back to the sink and the charred mess within, wondering if there is any point now trying to recover something good from the ashes that remain.


	7. Chapter 7

**There was going to be more to this chapter but I feared it would become massively too big so I reworked it a bit instead. I'll try my best to get the next bit up soon, but unless I have a mammoth typing spree it is more likely to come sometime in the New Year. So festive wishes to you all, hope you enjoy the holidays xxx (and thanks in advance for any reviews!)  
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I gulp down the dregs of my lukewarm tea, washing down the grease of my breakfast with the milky brew. Glancing across the table, I watch Syed as he chews slowly and thoughtfully on his toast, his eyes staring vacantly out of the window. Sy's eyes amaze me; at times he seeks to hide behind them, whilst at others they are a clear portal to the feelings in his heart. Too often in the past I watched them grow impossibly dark and heavy with the weight of unsolvable pain laid deeply within. But thankfully I have also discovered that to see them shimmer with happiness and joy is the finest sight I have ever received, and a sign that somehow, somewhere, I am doing something right. But right now they are opaque, hiding his thoughts behind strong defences and beautiful thick lashes. It worries me.

"Sy?" I try to catch his attentions and bring them back to the present, hoping for a chink of recognition to sneak through and remind him that the one place where he can feel safe and let his guard down is in my presence. "Sy?" I try again, reaching across the remnants of food on our plates to touch his arm. He starts with surprise and turns to face me, taking an extra second or two for his face to return to a more attentive expression.

"Sorry," he apologises, "miles away." I suspect however that his mind was occupied by something barely a tenth of that distance away, just across the square from us now.

"Look, I've got to head off, got a client in 10 minutes then off to the gym." I remind him, nudging him gently when I realise that he still looks a bit dazed. "Got any plans for later?"

This seems to have some impact, like a double espresso hitting the nerve cells in his brain, his eyes suddenly lose their vague clouds of confusion and spring into life. "Ah, thanks for reminding me, I want to pop to the gym later." He catches the perhaps rather overexcited expression on my face and laughs. "Yeah, don't get too excited, you've not converted me to the joys of gym bunnyhood just yet."

"I guess you still prefer my _special _workouts at home, yep, that's understandable." I add sagely, watching with delight as he bites his lip to avoid bursting into laughter, but yet failing to avoid the tell-tale flush from edging over his features and the lights of mirth from shining in his eyes.

"_Anyway_, " he continues, "as I was saying, I wanted to pop over to the gym and put some adverts up, figured it would be a good place to pick up-" he notices my raised eyebrow and shakes his head in mock despair, "clients. Pick up some _clients_."

"Honestly Syed Masood, I can't take you anywhere. You are _filthy_"

"For the massage business, you twat." He chucks a sachet of sugar at me and rolls his eyes. "And if you leave off the suggestive remarks for five minutes, then I was going to suggest that we could grab lunch together?"

"But my suggestive remarks are what you love best about me." I pout, then grin. "Lunch sounds like a great idea, ooh and why don't you wear that green t-shirt, I like showing off my hot masseur boyfriend to everyone in the gym, especially that receptionist with the huge crush on you. Hmm, actually maybe not, if you're advertising your business then you don't want to look too hot, otherwise you'll get a lot of disappointed customers when you don't offer them a happy ending. Ah fuck it, you're hot and out of their league, might as well rub it in." I laugh at my own pun as Syed groans, his head dropping into his hands.

"This is my career but it is just one big excuse for puns and innuendo for you isn't it?"

I feel a pang of guilt. "Sorry Sy, I do take it seriously, you know I do."

He raises his head, revealing a wide grin. "Ha, gets you every time." He laughs ducking the array of sauce sachets that I send hurling towards his head.

"Honestly you two, you're like a pair of five year olds sometimes," chides Jane, clearing the table and returning the sauces to their rightful places.

"Sorry Jane," we chorus in singsong unison, our heads lowered contritely to hide the still visible sniggers. I glance at my watch, "Right I'd best be off." I pick up my bag from under the table, and make to leave but then pause, taking one more look at my still thoughtful looking boyfriend. "You are okay Sy?" I ask quietly, stretching my arm out and pushing a couple of rebellious locks behind his ear. He smiles at me, a smile that reaches his eyes and my heart lurches with an almost overwhelming sense of joy.

"Yeah I am, I really am." He leans over to me and gently kisses my lips. Now that was something of a rarity. Syed has made great strides at being genuinely comfortable with showing his affection in public, but he is still generally the recipient rather than the instigator. "See you later" he grins, and I leave with the heat of his kiss still tattooed onto my lips.

...

I know he has entered even before I catch sight of his familiar frame or hear his distinctive voice. With my back to the entrance of the gym, I feel his presence by the feelings of warmth and electricity that fill my body.

I glance up at the mirrors in front of me and watch him as he enters, his residue nervousness at being here betrayed by the slight tensing of his shoulders, the awkward placing of his hands in his pockets, way his eyes flicker around the room, trying too hard not to focus on the bodies on display. I fear that despite everything, despite his acceptance of his desire for me, there is still a part of him which will never fully relax, a still nagging voice that tries to tell him that there is something wrong with his furtive glances, the acknowledgement of his more base feelings. So intent is he with deliberately _not _noticing anyone else that he fails to spot what is immediately obvious to me, the way that he catches the attentions of others. He's a proper head-turner is my Sy, and he has no idea, or not desire to be aware, I'm not sure which. I love watching him, seeing the way others want him, knowing that he wants only me, but at the same time, I wonder whether part of him is still trapped by feeling of shame or embarrassment at what he cannot help but notice, and my heart aches with both sympathetic and selfish pain.

Finally his eyes find respite in the reflection of my answering gaze and I see his whole body relax. He looks so gorgeous I can't resist teasing him a little. I extend my arm that little bit further, flex my muscles just that little bit more, displaying my body to him, for him, always watching his reactions, the widening of his eyes, the edging out of his tongue, the knowledge that despite any lingering fears that he may maintain about his attraction to other men, there is no fear and no doubt when it comes to his focus on me. He walks over to me as I raise the dumbbell once more.

"Show-off." He grins.

"Don't know what you mean." I reply with innocence coating my expression. "You're early." I lean over and kiss him quickly.

"Yeah, the last client didn't show up," he shrugged. I glance at him, trying to discern if he is as casual as he sounds. He takes stuff to heart sometimes Sy, and has such determination to make himself a success that I worry that it leaves him vulnerable. I decide to take the light-hearted approach.

"Admit it, you were just too desperate to see me weren't you?"

"Yes, that was it entirely," he smiles and waves his rucksack in my direction. "And I have a picnic all ready to go so come on, grab yourself a shower and let's go, I'm starving."

"I love it when you're all bossy," I whisper into his ear as I walk pass.

"_Go_," he repeats, shaking his head but failing to hide the flashes that appear in his eyes.

...

We sit under the shade of an oak tree in the park near the gym. As ever I am watching Syed, as if my eyes could turn to another sight when he is near. I am half listening to him detail all the picnic food he has brought, whilst actually just enjoying observing him now, at ease, becoming part of the summer scene on display in the park; kids are laughing, racing round with an unfeasible amount of energy in the heat of the afternoon, dogs have abandoned their owners to explore in hedges, office workers are out sunbathing, making the most of this brief opportunity to leave their stuffy offices and grab some time in the sun, and there are couples sitting under the shade of trees, with picnics at their feet and no worries to weigh them down. I feel my heart overflow with a happiness that only a year ago I couldn't have imagined existing like this, and I smile, leaning back against the solid rough bark of the tree.

"...so there you go, a picnic of kings, to please even the pickiest of souls." Syed finishes, displaying his picnic wares in front of him with a certain pride and a rather theatrical flourish. "This do you?"

"Fabulous," I grin, observing the feast with pleasure, until I spot a notable omission. "Sy, where are you hiding the scotch eggs? You know it's not a picnic without scotch eggs. Surely you didn't forget them?"

"Err no, I didn't forget them, I deliberately omitted them. As I was saying while you were busy fantasising about _whatever_ just then, I only got picnic stuff that both of us could enjoy so no pork covered eggs for you I'm afraid."

"I'm sure you can get halal scotch eggs." I arrange my lips into a moue of disappointment.

"Can you?" Syed's face scrunched into a confused frown and I longed to reach across to him, wipe the creases on his forehead away with the caresses of my fingers and kiss the edges of his downturned mouth. "But why would you want to? Honestly Christian, some things are forbidden for a reason." His voice trails off, his light-hearted comment suddenly carrying the weight of history and pain behind it and we sit in an awkward silence for a few minutes. There is nothing more likely to paralyse me into silence than the implication of what else might be considered forbidden. I'm still lost by the role of his religion in his, in _our _life, and Syed knows it. Whenever the topic comes up, if it can't be covered by the basic 'he goes to mosque, he doesn't drink, he leaves the bacon counter untouched' then I end up feeling like I am visiting an alien planet without a guidebook, and where even my super hot interpreter is at a loss as to how to explain it. On occasion I have tried to work it out but the whole thing just seems so...well _alien _to me and I can't make it fit into the world that I know. I try to settle for reminding myself that it is important to him and he has reconciled himself with it all, and that at least goes some way to blotting out the heart-breaking and confusing memory of before, his face, beautiful and pained, sandwiched between my hands, his tormented eyes earnestly telling me that _God will always know_, submitting both of us to a judgement that I could never comprehend. But I've always hated not understanding things that matter to me, and especially not understanding Syed, and despite everything and all our time together I still don't have the first inkling just what all this stuff means to him, why it matters so much, and how he has reached a resolution when his family, his old friends at the mosque, and seemingly everyone else still remains unconvinced. Sometimes I wonder if his reluctance to talk to me about it all isn't just partly a way to avoid him confusing himself again, and to be honest, there is part of me that doesn't want to talk about it at all. A certain nagging doubt lingers in my head saying that it is a dangerous topic to raise for fear of sparking some kind of rethink in Syed's mind that sends him away from me. The cold chill of dread enters my heart and I shiver in the bright sunshine.

Soon however we have moved back onto less dangerous topics, laughing and chatting freely as ever, and the warmth returns to banish the chill. There are few simpler yet more enjoyable than this I think, as Sy's sweet, melodic laughter fills my ears and brings joy to my soul. It was this laughter after all which first sent me falling under his glorious spell, far before he made any sign of his interest, and before I had even realised what my heart was doing under the pretence of beating as normal.

* * *

We were working side by side in the unit, chopping vegetables, dicing meat, mixing spices. Moving smoothly in unison like we had worked together for years, not a couple of weeks. He still hadn't spoken that much to me since our first awkward meeting, not about anything of note, and occasionally I found myself wanting to ask him something, anything, everything. Idle curiosity on my part I assumed and thought nothing more of it. I'm not sure what my justification was for feeling like I needed to seek his attention so constantly though, finding myself singing along with the radio even more than normal, adding little dance moves that became bigger, more dramatic, my singing voice getting louder, higher, as I spotted his eyes flicking over to me, the corners of his mouth twitching with barely supressed mirth. I wanted to make him smile, I wanted to hear him laugh.

"Tell me a joke," I asked him, suddenly, out of nowhere, surprising myself.

"What?" He looked bemused at me.

"C'mon Syed, a joke, helps to keep workplace morale up. You know what they say, the workplace that laughs together..."

"..barfs together?" he offered, still confused, his hands continuing to neatly chop the aubergine.

"Yeah, something like that." I grinned. "Go on, everyone knows at least one joke. You can tell me,"

"You've put me on the spot, that's not fair." He sounded flustered but his hands kept a steady pace, not hesitating as his voice ummed and ahhed. "Okay, it's shit though. A polar bear walked into a bar and asks for a pint of beer and...an orange juice. The barman says 'Okay, but why the big pause?'"

I stood there in silence and raised an eyebrow.

"Big pause, big paws, see?" he added, lifting up his hands as if to explain the joke further and the serious expression on his face did strange things to my stomach, things that I sought to explain by the excess of coffee on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, I got it Syed, comprehension really wasn't the issue here."

"That joke is a classic of its genre," he retorted, looking slightly embarrassed but still playing along.

"What genre? The 'animal walks into a bar' genre or the 'shit unfunny jokes' genre?"

"Alright, give it a rest, it was your idea." I sneaked a glance and saw with an unexpected sense of relief that his outrage was at least partly put on, his eyes dancing with something unexpected, something that I couldn't quite place.

"It's fine, Syed," I began, patronisingly. "Some people are naturally gifted, whil- _ooof_." I broke off when a piece of nicely diced aubergine hit me square in the jaw. "Nice throw!" I laughed.

"Captain of the cricket team at school," he admitted, an edge of pride making its way through his voice. "I had quite a line in wrist-spin, even if I do say so myself."

I opened my mouth ready to make some lewd remark about wrist action then shut it again, suddenly remembering that he is _Zainab's_ son, and that this is our first real conversation. I quickly took another tack instead. "Captain eh? Impressive."

"Well it's like you were saying, some people are naturally gifted." He put on a mock preen, with a grin that demands a laugh in response.

"Do you do any sport now?" I asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

"Nah, not really. Got lazy in my old age I guess," he shrugged. I watched him cooking out of the corner of my eye; the way his dark thick hair fell in soft curls around his ears, the layer of stubble sprinkled over unblemished skin, the bright eyes glowing when he smiled. Another unexplained pang hit my stomach, _oh t__he gorgeousness and hopefulness of youth_. Shit, where the hell did that thought come from? I swallowed, hard.

"Shame, let me know if you fancy popping to the gym or anything, we could work out together." I turned to stir the food in front of me and for a second I felt like the heat of his eyes was boring into my body, but when I turned back he was still methodically chopping, his face impassive.

"Doubt I could keep up with you to be honest."

I was about to tell him that he looks in good shape to me but I managed to bite the words back as I open my mouth. Zainab's straight son. I reminded myself yet again. He looked at me, expectantly.

"What?"

"Just thought of a joke you might like, it fits in both your favourite genres, and Bobby told it to me so it's probably about your level." I ignored his rolled eyes, and continued. "A horse walks into a bar, and orders a drink. The barman says sure, but-"

"-why the long face" Syed chorused with me. He looked away, his lips pursed tightly together but then he gave in and started to laugh. "Rubbish, worse than mine," he stuttered, the words forced out between giggles.

"Then why are you laughing?" I asked, the laughter bubbling up inside me too at the unexpectedly pleasurable sight of Syed's relaxed joy.

He shook his head, his shoulders shaking as the giggles rocked his lean frame, his lips stretched into a broad smile. An unbidden desire burst into my mind, a sudden longing to kiss those lips, right here in the unit, to feel them pressed against mine, gently at first, then more forcefully, to push him up against the fridge and plunder his mouth with my own. I looked away, away from the sudden temptation that stood, innocent, beside me. _You're horny and haven't had a shag in too long_, I told myself sternly. _You're got to stop developing crushes on the least appropriate people_ and a straight, Muslim co-worker with a girlfriend must pretty much the least appropriate of all. _Even if he is ridiculously cute when he smiles_, a quiet irrepressible voice added. Right, I decide, I just need to make sure I get laid on my birthday. Have some fantastic, uncomplicated sex, that'll do the trick.

* * *

Well I got the fantastic part right at least, even if the rest rather fell by the wayside the moment that Syed's lips found mine and my world changed. But I discovered at least one truth that day, that the sight of Syed laughing and smiling, a carefree look in his eyes, is one of the most glorious sights on the earth, the kind of sight that makes me think that God or no God, I am truly blessed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hmmm...not the finest work ever but I am tired so apologies! I'll try to get the next chapter sounding a bit better x**

**Part of this chapter was inspired by Mushroom Hair's brilliant Fic 'Chryed School'.  
**

* * *

I lean back against the tree, surveying the state of empty food packets in front of us, the stray crumbs rolling round bare tupperware and I fall into a lazy sated grin.

"Right, I'm stuffed, now _that_ was a picnic of champions. Come 'ere," and I held my hand out to Syed, pulling him into me, letting my hands glide over his tight top, inhaling the fresh scent of his hair. We lay quietly for a while, feeling the warmth of the sun soaking into our entwined bodies. But Syed is staring off into the distance and I remember his look in the caff this morning. I stroke his hair thoughtfully, curling a stray lock round my finger. "Sy, what were you thinking about earlier?" I ask quietly. Syed pauses, I feel the muscles in his back tense and his breath stills momentarily. I wait. He exhales, relaxes and settles back closely in our casual embrace.

"Just thinking about my dad. Are you sure you want to hear about this, it must be really boring."

I press a kiss into his scalp and rest my head in his tousled hair. "Course I do. And it's not boring, it's you. You could never be boring to me."

"Soppy git," he murmurs, but I see the small smile creep onto his lips as he shifts slightly and lays a quick but gentle kiss onto my chest. "Okay, it's just, well I was thinking about how if my dad really is wanting to see me then it is probably the first time he has ever been the one to try and apologise to me. It was always me, trying to do something to please him but always, always messing it up. I just couldn't get it right. Like when I got called up to the cricket team, I was actually quite good back then, you know."

"Yeah, I bet you were baby," I murmur into his hair, stealing a glance down his lithe frame lying in my embrace and picturing him running in, all grace and fludiity, pure poetry in motion. I look at his legs, covered now in denim and imagine the muscles in his thighs and calves working together fluently as he strides closer to the crease, a hidden power revealing itself in an instant. I take a glimpse of his lean fingers and slender hands and envision them grasping the ball, the tendons in his strong wrist twisting and turning as he approaches, quicksilver movements unrecognised by most. The ball, released, flying towards its aim, flirting with the batsman, bewitching him, sending him one way only to realise too late that they have been caught off guard, the ball hitting it's mark with solid certainty, sending wooden bails falling onto soft grass. I stare at his full lips and think of them upturned in delight, arms raised triumphantly. Teammates will come crowding in soon enough but right now the victory is his and the victory is sweet. I shift slightly on the grass and remind myself to return to such fantasies later.

"I even got made captain. But all dad said was that it was getting in the way of my schoolwork and that I ought to be helping more in the business, that I had responsibility to my family and that that should be the most important thing. So I quit the team to work more with the business but then I was a quitter. So I tried putting more energy into the business and well, you know what happened there. I just kept messing up and was never good enough, and mum, well she kind of made it worse by going on about how brilliant I was. And then the more he dismissed me, the more desperate I was for him to praise me, to find something good in me, something that would be worth his praise. Pathetic, eh?"

"Not at all," I reply immediately, but before I can speak I have to swallow past the lump in my throat at the painful vision he sets before me. I tighten my grip around him, trying to provide comfort to the boy that still remains, half hidden within my gorgeous and courageous man.

"When I was a kid I thought my dad knew everything, that he was always right. Then when I got older I saw things a bit clearer, that no human is ever always right, but by then I'd started having thoughts about guys and stuff and I just felt so ashamed. I thought…I thought maybe he could see all of that and that was why he was always so hard on me, that he could see all the badness and sin inside me."

I can't hide my instinctive wince at his final words, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"I didn't mean...I mean that was what I thought back then, I didn't mean that we were, that this is-"

"I know Sy, I know." And I do, I hadn't been struck by fears of the present but by images of the past. I don't tell him that what made my stomach lurch with the kind of pain I had so nearly managed to forget about was the notion of Syed _ever _having hated what he felt, ever having hated himself.

"Have you ever loved someone and hated them too, all at the same time?" he asks, then after a slight pause he adds, softly "actually, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

"I never hated you, if that's what you mean, I never could. I thought I wanted to sometimes, I thought it might make everything a bit easier if I could, but I couldn't. And I didn't really want to, not deep down." I smooth back his hair and kiss his temple, anything to show him that I am here, that all of that heartbreak lies in the past, that he no longer has to feel ashamed and alone.

"Well that was how I felt, like I hated him for always treating me like an incompetent child, but I still loved him, he's my _dad _Christian, and I just wanted to make him happy. But then I'd hate myself for wanting that so badly. And then finally I decide that I can never be the son he wants so I should just stop trying to please him, stop trying to achieve the impossible, and suddenly he is the one chasing after my approval and forgiveness. It's...well it's weird and I don't know how I feel." He sighs and starts randomly plucking at bits of grass, tearing the blades into smaller pieces. "And you see Christian, the thing is, it wasn't that I couldn't imagine my dad doing _that_ to you, it was that I could. How can you think that about your dad and still love him and want him to be proud of you. It's messed up." He turns to look directly at me, his eyes sad but more composed that I was expecting. "Anyway, what about your dad? I have a rather frightening image of your mum in my mind, thanks for that, but I don't know anything about your dad. You never seem to mention him."

I rub my hand across my eyes "There's nothing much to say. He treated my mum like crap for years and she just put up with it." I realise I sound snappier than I meant to, guess that's what thinking about _him _does. I give Sy an apologetic half-smile and hope he takes the hint to change the subject. He does, well sort of.

"Maybe we should go and visit them sometime, and see your mum at least? You could show me off to your mum, you know how much you like showing me off. " He grins at me and his smile is as irresistible as ever, addictive and gorgeous, causing my half-smile to stretch and even if not quite sufficient to match his, it is at least enough to qualify as an actual expression of pleasure. "You could show them how you're a changed man now you have the love of a good man," he adds, looking devilishly innocent, all wide-eyed sincerity on the one hand while the sides of his mouth twitch with cheeky mischief.

"Yeah, maybe. If we can afford it." I think of her letter to me after I told her about Sy and me, the notes of scepticism and doubt unmissable even from thousands of miles away. A faint voice buzzes in my ear, my mum's voice, comparing me to my father. _Well you can't see him in me anymore_, my mind replies to her. I know I am different, I know I would never hurt Sy the way he hurt my mum, never treat him like that. And she'd see that too wouldn't she? I'm not like him, _surely_? But why is it that no-one else seems to think so. I'm sure I can see it, even in the eyes of people who love me and care about me. Roxy and Jane still sometimes seem surprised that we're still together, that I haven't fucked it up or got bored. Why I am so sure that I am different if no-one else thinks that I could be. Lost in thought I nearly miss Sy speaking to me. "Sorry Sy, what was that?"

"I said you must miss her though, when did you last see them?"

"Not for ages." I nearly admit that I was on my way there before changing my mind and going to the wedding instead. _The_ wedding. Never _his_. As if removing a pronoun would somehow lessen it, and might rob the event of its residue power to hurt us. But I say nothing. It's not exactly a taboo subject, we have both mentioned it. Occasionally. But it is hardly a memory that I want to come up now, not when the warmth of the early summer sun is still shining down on us, giving Sy's tanned skin a perfect glow, glistening in his eyes and reflecting in his smile. Now is most certainly not the time to the let the cold wind of winter rattle through our hearts. "Anyway, haven't you got enough worries with your own family to be bothering yourself with mine?" I change the topic smoothly, pushing stray locks out of his caring eyes.

"Yeah, I guess it helps to take my mind off that's all. Other people's families always seem easier to fix than your own."

"Oh Sy." I lean over and pull him forward until he is resting back in my embrace again, lowering my head to let my lips lightly graze his neck. As I move my hands to rub his back I catch sight of the time on my watch. "Shit. we'd better run. If I end up missing a client and you don't get your advert up then forget about trips to Florida, we'll be lucky if we can afford a weekend in Brighton."

We get up, stretching out limbs made sleepy and too comfortable from our happy rest, and quickly shove our rubbish into our bags. As we make our way out of the park I glance briefly behind us but any evidence of our visit has vanished, the grass is restored to its pristine appearance, the sun continues to shine shamelessly on any who wishes to sit under her warming rays, the tree continues to provide restful shade to all and sundry. I can't tell if I am pleased that we leave no mark or annoyed that we can be so easily replaced.

...

When we arrive I rush off to get changed and ready for my client, I'm running a bit late and this guy's a right whiny sod at the best of times, always finding something to complain about. I remind myself to keep a cheery expression on my face despite the immense longing I have just to run straight out of there again, and sit back with Sy under the tree, just talking and being with him. I leave Sy talking to Mel, the pretty blonde receptionist who has the biggest crush on him, always asking him why he doesn't come to the gym more often and work out with me. I like watching them together, Syed relaxes more, he can deal with female attention far better than male, and he laughs at her more than transparent attempts to find reasons for him to hang around. Her other remarks, the none-so-subtle ones involving me and him however, cause a rather fetching blush to fill his cheeks, something which naturally encourages her to tease him even more.

Changed and ready I pop my head back round the reception to say goodbye to Sy. He is still chatting to Mel as I watch a young, muscular Asian guy approach the desk then stop in surprise.

"Syed Masood?" The guy reaches out and touches Syed's arm and I see Syed's face blanche, a flash of something, fear, anger, shock maybe I dunno, I'm too far away, crossing over his face.

"I've got to go." I hear Sy mumble as he practically runs out of the building, taking his unused advert with him, crumpled tight in his gripped fist, and leaving the three of us standing in confusion.

"That _was _Syed Masood right? Do you know him? Is he a member here?" The guy turns to Mel and starts firing scattergun questions at her. She glances up at me and I see a sense of relief on her pretty face that she can pass the interrogation over to me instead.

"Ask Christian," she says and disappears down the corridor, muttering something about _needing to count the towels_.

He turns slowly to me, noticing my presence for the first time. "And then there were two," I quip, trying to keep a light-hearted edge to my voice as I glance quickly at him, looking up and down, doing my best to assess this stranger in a few glances. It's a skill I used to use a lot, but under rather different circumstances. Right now however I feel completely flummoxed and Sy running off like that hasn't helped me to keep a level head. Sy was _scared _of him I realise, belatedly, and that doesn't exactly predispose me to like him. "So, you know Syed?"

"Knew." An eyebrow shoots up at his terseness. Guess the suspicion runs both ways. "So you and him are friends then?"

I pause. An innocuous question I think, or did I imagine the touch of scepticism lurking in his tone. I look at his dark eyes, eyes that fail to give away any hints at what emotion may be contained within, and a sudden memory nudges painfully at me. A memory of two other pairs of dark eyes, a familiar pair looking hurt and pained, the full moon glinting off unshed tears, and the other, unknown and seen only once, yet powerful with their hate.

* * *

It was the beginning of February, and we were treating ourselves to a posh meal and then to the cinema to see some foreign film that Sy was desperate to see. We sat on the tube, chatting and laughing about the evening before when Tam had come round for dinner, trying to pick our brains for a suitable Valentine's present for Afia and getting huffy at our mock chavtastic suggestions. I was enjoying myself teasing Sy with whispered suggestions of what presents I might give him to unwrap and hints of what I might be forced to do to entertain myself that night if the film got too boring. But when we reached the penultimate stop Syed's demeanour changed. The laughter stopped, the gorgeous smile that I lived for vanished and instead he sat in strained silence, seemingly deaf to my concern and confusion. My hand had been resting lightly over his shoulder, his head had been leaning into my chest in a comforting fashion, but it suddenly seemed awkward, sitting heavily like there was too much weight to be supported by his neck. Syed swallowed heavily, the sound and action reverberated through my body and pained my ears and eyes. I looked around the carriage, seeking the explanation for the tensed atmosphere until finally I saw a pair of eyes focused heavily, unblinkingly, chillingly at Sy. And staring too at the arm round his shoulder where my hand still automatically, mindlessly lay teasing his curls. I recognised the look, I've seen it too often to care, but Syed averted his eyes like their stare was a physical punch that was wounding and punishing his defenceless body.

Once we had left the tube and its hostile occupant far behind us I grabbed Syed's arm.

"What the hell was that all about? Do you know that guy?"

"Sort of. I've seen him at mosque a few times. The new mosque. We've not exactly been introduced but then that's true of a lot of people there. I guess...I guess he recognised me too." That was all he said but as we walked along to the restaurant in a far more decorous manner I glanced at his eyes and shivered at the sadness within. All through our meal, the film, our sleepy late night coupling, there remained this shadow of pain and loss, an unwelcome presence that lingered on, threatening our peace, a spectre at our feast of love.

The next day he left the flat even earlier than usual and started going to a different mosque.

* * *

I look again at this guy, a different pair of eyes but maybe with the same intention, I think, and open my mouth, but before my mind has formed the words I hear my voice reply, "yeah, we're friends." An icicle of sorrow stabs wildly into my gut, twisting ever deeper as I hear the words of pretence enter the room. I don't know why I said that, why I didn't say more, why I let glib words conceal heart-stopping beauty. I heard his tone, I knew what he meant, what he implied, but my eyes are filled with the sight of Syed looking away on the tube, and all I can hear is his voice telling me sadly of the badness and sin within him.

"Friends?" He repeats. "Right. Then when you next happen to bump into him, could you pass on a message. Tell him...tell him Malik says hi." The guy turns his back on me and walks out of the gym, while I stand, alone, bewildered and desperate to get back to Sy. Just as I decide to fuck it all and just leave I hear a rather annoyed and demanding voice boom out behind me.

"Christian, _there _you are, I've been waiting for ages already. I pay for a full 60 minutes you know, and I'm not going to be short-changed."

"I'm just coming," I reply, pinning my most charming expression firmly onto my face and heading back inside the gym, wondering how on earth I am supposed to survive an hour of the client from hell when all I want to know is who the fuck is Malik?

**Reviews always appreciated **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N bit nervous about this chapter so any thoughts, be they good, bad or meh, would be interesting to hear!**

**Sorry if it feels a bit derivative, been sitting in my head for months but taken ages to get written down.  
**

* * *

Finally, 1000 glances at my watch later, the hour comes to a close and I rush off, not bothering to change clothes, just grabbing my bag as I make my way home, hoping against vain, wishful hope that Sy will just be sitting there happily, that his sudden departure was due to remembering that Eggheads was just about to start. Yeah, right.

As I walk, my footsteps tap out the beat 'Ma-lik, Ma-lik, Ma-lik, Ma-lik', while my brain runs through possibilities, both likely and implausible; someone from the Masoods' mosque, an old school friend perhaps, or maybe a friend of Amira's, and here I shivered in the cooling evening air, remnants of guilt and sadness merging at the thought of Amira and mixing with the undercurrent of dread and anger that still flows deep when I think of her father.

My feet halt.

The harsh chill of fear grips tightly at my heart and I freeze. What if... The faint echo of memories, long concealed but still raw and piercing below the skin, emerge again with a terrible clarity. Harsh angry tones, anguished shrieks, pure fury and animal instinct, so different from the premediatated hatred and revenge on display a few days later. Iron fists driving towards the perfect pained body lying at his mercy. Syed never even tried, never wanted to fight back, he just lay there, waiting, accepting, wanting the pain. Horrific images now fly through my mind, as I stupidly, numbly realise that I may have just left my gorgeous boy waiting in a trap. I run, legs matching increased fear with increased pace, through the familar streets, ignoring friends, suspecting strangers, leaping over discarded rubbish and uneven paving stones until I reach the street door, haphazardly shoving my keys in, and taking the stairs two, three at a time, the echo of the slam not reaching my ears until I am pushing open the door to the flat, desperately, nervously, with panic and trepidation.

Silence. Stillness. An unnerving calm.

Breath returns slowly to burning lungs.

Syed is lying on his stomach on the sofa, his crossed legs lying nearest to me, book in front of him but clearly unread, his eyes staring vacantly into thin air. There is no threat, no danger, no menace. But equally there is no music, no TV, no food cooking, no cup of tea resting hazardously on the edge of the sofa. Just Sy, lost in a world of thought and an unread book. My arrival appears to have gone unnoticed, dazed as he is, so I lean over the back of the sofa and place a gentle touch on his shoulder. He starts, blinking away the confusion of thoughts that fill his troubled eyes and pulling himself around until he is sitting in what passes for a comfortable position.

"Sorry Christian, I didn't hear you you come in. Shall I put the kettle on? I think we're out of milk but I could run to the Minute Mart and get some or I could see if we've got a lemon or something and make it the posh way instead or…" his voice trails off weakly as he observes the expression on my face. "Sorry, I'm rambling aren't I."

I smile, "It's fine. I don't need anything. Bit hungry mind." The slight smile that comes across his face provides me with the touch of sweetness that my soul requires. For a few seconds I consider just letting it rest. I'll ask him about it later I think, once I have fully recovered from my panicked race home and the adrenalin has died down. Or maybe tomorrow or something. I just want him to look happy again. And then I swear I am about to say something about maybe popping to the caff to grab a bite to eat but for the second time in a couple of hours my mouth seems to have other ideas and leaps ahead of me. "Who's Mailk?" His smile fades completely as a certain kind of darkness returns, and a host of emotions from puzzlement to pain floods his face. Shit. But I need to know.

"You spoke to him? I didn't see…" He doesn't finish his sentence, doesn't need to add that he saw nothing except his own reflection in the glass doors as they spun around his hasty retreat.

"Yeah. I saw him come up to you and saw you hotfoot it out the door as soon as you caught sight of him. Then he started firing questions at Mel and me-"

"What did he say?" Syed interrupts me, a touch of anxiety raising the pitch of his voice.

"Hi."

"What?"

"He said to say hi to you. " I sigh and reach for Syed's arm, letting my fingers run gently down the warm flesh, savouring the feeling of tender skin reacting instinctively to my touch. "Look Sy," I continue, carefully, warily. "I _know _something's up, just talk to me about it _please. _We can sort it out together whatever it is. I just hate knowing that you are keeping something from me." My carefulness only lasts so long as I blurt out the last sentence.

"Yeah, likewise," he replies, pointedly, then bites his lip and nods, taking my hand in his and running his thumb over the tendons and bones in the wrist. "I'll get my coat, I feel like a walk. And we can get some chips on the way or something, keep your stomach from rumbling." A flash of a smile and my heart is momentarily lifted. To know he trusts me enough to talk about it grants me an unfeasible amount of relief.

…

We walk out of the square, our feet finding a matching pace as we walk along familiar streets and down well-trodden paths, wordless and soundless but for the repeating echoes of our steps and the chewing of salty chips. The streets are teeming with people, but once we emerge onto the canal towpath, it is just me and him, alone in the company of our thoughts. I steal glances at him as we walk, trying to read his expression, but he is distant and removed. I content myself instead with nicking a few scraps from the bottom of his bag, successfully managing to grab his attention along with the chips.

"Oy, eat your own," he protests weakly.

"I've finished mine. Unlike some, it doesn't take me an hour to eat a bag of chips. Especially not one of Ian's miserly portions." I pause. "_Sy_". My voice sounds far more pleading and desperate than I had intended it to. Less 'supportive boyfriend who just wants to help' and more 'crazed demanding obsessive who can't keep his bloody mouth shut'. He falters, hand running through wind ruffled hair then proffers the bag to me.

"You finish them, I'm not really hungry anyway." He walks ahead, giving me the chance to observe his tense shoulders, the strain apparent in the tightening of the muscles along his back. I long to wrap myself around him, smooth away the strain, kiss away his fears and tell him nothing matters except us right now, but that never worked before, not for long enough anyway. I know that he has to do this on his own and that the only comfort I can offer must be from a distance. It's only taken nearly two years of knowing Syed, but I am beginning to learn how to be patient. It's nearly bloody _killing _me though.

"I met him in Leeds," Sy begins, his voice barely audible above the hum of traffic just beyond the trees, the noise that keeps the buzz of the city alive despite the relative calm and peace here by the canal. I stride forward so we are back in step and he continues, his voice strengthening as he goes on. "We were friends I guess. Yeah definitely friends. He had loads of mates though, really popular. He had a good job, was close to his family. I thought he had it all. I think I started hanging out with him at first because I wanted to know how he had done it, and work out what I needed to do." Syed pauses and looks at me, his eyes clouding over, but he has found his rhythm now and the words fall more smoothly from his mouth. "I was really lonely in Leeds at first, really lonely. I'd done well at school, and at uni, not so much because I was clever, I mean I'm not _thick_, but I'm not clever like Tam is, but I was always _smart_. I knew how the system worked, what I had to do to get the teachers and supervisors to like me, how to say the stuff that they want to hear. But when I left, and got kicked out of home, I was so lost, I didn't know what the rules were anymore. All I knew how to do was to put on this act again, like I knew it all, like nothing bothered me, but I was so scared and so, so lonely. And Malik was nice to me, he took me to his mosque, introduced me to his friends, even to his family." Syed glances sideways at me again. "You have no idea how much I missed my family then, and to be able to spend time with his… well it was good. I started to feel like I was beginning to settle in somewhere. I looked at Malik's life and thought he had it sorted. He had everything, family, friends, work, and, and yet he still liked _me_."

_Yeah I bet he did_, I thought to myself, as pieces of the puzzle start slotting into place and form a picture, different from the one that I had initially thought, but one so easily formed that I feel stupid for being so blind.

"Anyway, one night, it was a couple of nights after Eid, I couldn't stop thinking about my family, thinking about how they would have spent it all together, and I was just feeling so lonely. It was late but I thought I'd go for a bit of a walk to clear my head. I ended up near Mailk's place. The lights were on and I got excited thinking he was still up, maybe I could talk to him about it all. But before I got to the door it opened and some bloke came out. He turned to Mailk as he left, said goodbye and kissed him. I was stunned. I wanted to turn round and leave but I felt like my feet were stuck to the pavement. The guy left and I still stood there. Mailk went to shut the door but just before he did he looked up and saw me. I knew he had seen me because he froze too. We must have looked so weird, the two of us standing on opposite sides of the road, just staring at each other, not saying a word. In the end he shut his door and I went home. I was so confused Christian, I couldn't think straight, my mind was like some big mess of confusion. It was like someone had taken everything I thought I knew and shaken it all round till even the most commonplace stuff failed to make any sense. He was supposed to be my role model and he was… I spent _days_ like that, living in a dream, messing up at work, staying in all the time, hiding from everyone and especially Malik. It was all I could think about. I thought I was going mad, started thinking I must have been seeing things, because no way could Mailk have been doing that. Then one night I sneaked out to the 24 hour shop on the corner to get some food and of course I bumped into him. He said we should talk and I agreed. But we just walked in silence. Walked and walked till we ended up back at his. I had so many words going through my head but I couldn't find any of them. So we just stood there in silence again. I couldn't even look at him. But then I did. And then we…" Syed trailed off, nibbling nervously at a stray hangnail, looking at the assorted debris littering the canal, the rusted wheels of an abandoned shopping trolley bobbing along.

My mind is full of pictures, images as real as the junk filled water in front of my eyes. My imagination needs little help, I know exactly what Syed would have looked like at that moment, I've seen it. His eyes filled with anger, hurt, frustration, desire. His frame so set with determination, turning to confusion then desperate need. A sudden stab of something I have never truly understood before, unfamiliar in its intensity, drives deep into my stomach. I worry momentarily that I might throw up and I dig my nails hard into my palm.

"I left straight afterwards. Ran off. I'm good at they eh?" he adds, ruefully. "We never did talk. I just ran all the way home, ignored his calls and hid in my room."

I struggle to find my voice. "Was he your…?"

Syed shook his head. "He wasn't the first. And he wasn't the last either. Two days later I dragged myself out, went to some dodgy club and went off with the first drunk guy who looked at me twice. It was horrible but it made me feel a bit better."

My confusion must have shown on my face as Syed half smiled at me and elaborated further. "I mean, with Malik, it ws my first time with someone I knew, someone that I cared about or who cared about me. Till you," he smiles with such sweet sincerity that it makes my stomach flip and I nearly forget the nagging gnawing ache. "It messed with my head, well even more than normal," he smiles wryly and I manage to find a half smile in reply. "And then the horrible guy, well he kind of made me feel like everything was back to how it should be. Quick and meaningless, nothing else. Something that good Muslim boys should never do. The next day I packed up all my stuff and left Leeds. I went to London, started again. Left Leeds behind and promised that this time I'd get it right, that I'd try harder. It didn't take long for me to get a job, and then I met Amira and it felt like a sign, that I had nearly lost everything but I had been given a second chance to sort it out. I started seeing her, and decided to get back in touch with my family. You know I actually thought everything was going to be okay." Syed stopped and reached for my hand, our fingers entwining, his thumb lightly stroking along the back of my hand, his fingertips running over marks made by my clenched fists. "And it was, in the end. In no way that I ever could have expected but it was so much more than okay."

We walk, silence again falling between us, my mind occupied by the shadowy image of a face that prior to today I wouldn't have looked twice at, but that now I feel sure I could spot in the middle of a crowded street. The steps we take are again in unison, falling into a natural, synchronised rhythm and I wonder if Syed's thoughts are also in sync with mine, if it is the image of another man that rests behind his eyes. I grip his hand tighter, some stupid need to hold him closer, keep him with me.

"So today was the first time you had seen him? Since _then_."

"Yep. I did wonder when I went up for the massage course. I hadn't thought about it when I agreed to go but when the train pulled in I suddenly had all these memories and fears come back. I ended up just hanging out in my hotel room in the end."

"Yeah I remember," I say, voice laced heavily with delicious memories of phone calls and furtive, intimate low voiced words of desire and longing.

"Well I guess it had its own advantages." His eyes glint, sending a wave of uncomplicated delight flooding over me. "But anyway I certainly didn't expect to see him _here_. He was always such a Yorkshire boy, never thought he'd come to London." He laughs slightly.

And like that the delight disappears and is replaced by an unseasonable chill. By now we have left the towpath behind and are walking down alleys and along overgrown footpaths, I glance at Syed as he walks and I wonder whether Syed is seeing the road ahead or picturing another road, another city, another choice.

"I guess he must have moved near here if he is at the gym, never seen him at mosque though. Nor at the last mosque," Syed ponders out loud.

"You should get in touch with him," I suddenly burst out. Syed's surprise is matched only by my own.

"You think?' he replies, shocked.

_No_, my heart screams. _Maybe, _my mind wavers. "Yes," my mouth somehow says. "Look, I think you owe it to him to talk to him about it. And you owe it to yourself too. And maybe…maybe it would be good for you to have someone to talk to who is in a similar situation." I pull him nearer and move my arm round his shoulder so his head rests comfortably on my chest as we walk. I can smell his hair, feel the way his body fits so smoothly into mine and right now I swear I can hear the thoughts as they spin round his mind.

"But how would I get in touch with him?" And I know the decision is made. I try to listen to the part of me that is pleased and ignore the nagging doubt that still prods and pokes inside.

"Okay Sy, there's this new invention, only about 150 years old, called the tel-e-phone," I explain, 'helpfully', spelling out the last word slowly and clearly. I am rewarded for my troubles by a sharp whack in the stomach.

"Thanks for that. You do know that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit right? How do I get hold of his number, smartarse?"

I sigh, over dramatically, enjoying the partial return to 'normal' conversation between us. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one. Look, if he was at the gym then he must be a member. And so they'll have his details at reception. Now if only there was a receptionist there who had a massive crush on you and would happily hand over state secrets for a flutter of your eyelashes….oh wait a minute…"

Syed blushed but laughed. "Okay, fine. But consider yourself warned if she has some outrageous demands. I think she wants to _watch_ us!" He sounds so scandalised I can't help but laugh properly for the first time in hours.

"And who could blame her?" I grin, squeezing him tighter in my embrace and kissing him extravagantly on the head as we turn out of another alley and enter onto the road by the tube.

"Huh, I thought we were still miles away from home," exclaimed Syed with pleasure.

"Yeah, I guess sometimes you think you are going somewhere new, but it turns out you were just going back to where you started," I murmur, half under my breath.

"What was that?" he turns to me, his eyes still smiling, his body still leaning into mine.

"Nothing," I tell him, and grab his hand as we finish our walk home.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. Erm this one should probably come with a smut warning. So here it is...Warning! Smut! **  
**Sorry...**

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The evening passes as evenings do, in food and chat, casual and sweet, the Malik-shaped elephant that lurks in the shadows ignored for the time being. I come out of the bathroom, ready for bed, and watch Syed as he stands in the kitchen, naked but for his boxers. I stare at him, his dark eyes weary with thoughts, his soft hair falling helplessly over his face, his lithe body leaning against the fridge as he fills a glass of water. My eyes trace a path along the line of muscles in his legs, resting happily at the curve of his arse.

"You're staring at me again," he mumbles tiredly. I cross the few steps that separate us and stand behind him, pulling him back to rest against me, feeling the familiar sense of comfort fall over the both of us when our bodies embrace in this way. He's shattered, physically and emotionally, he's opened up massively to me today, probably shared more with me now than he ever has done and I know I should let him rest. But yet I know that neither my body nor my mind can possibly hope to get any peace tonight unless I ask him one more thing. So, selfish bastard that I am, I open my mouth once more.

"Sy.." I hesitate, struggling to find the right words. "How come you didn't run away after we slept together like you did after you and Malik?"

He looks confused at me. "I kind of thought I did?"

"Well you were out of the door before the condom hit the floor yeah," I say without thinking and then inwardly curse as I see him wince, "but not like that, not change your number, move to another city kind of running away. I mean, was it just because of your family being here or…" and I fail to finish my sentence, not knowing, or rather not wanting to think about what the other option would be or mean.

Syed turns around in my arms, resting his back against the fridge. "This might be the first time anyone has ever had a go at me for _not_ running away." He reached up to me, taking my chin in his hands and looking directly into my eyes. "I couldn't run away from you. Not properly. With everyone else I satisfied some need then was petrified of ever seeing them again. With you, I was petrified of _never _seeing you again. The more I got from you, the more I needed, the more real it felt and the more scared I got. I think I probably told myself it was because of my family that I couldn't leave, but even then I knew that it wasn't just that. It was different with you right from the start, I thought you knew that. Everything's different with you." Syed leant up, his lips finding mine in the most tender of kisses before he whispers, low and sweet, "I could never get enough of you."

Echoes of my voice uttering the same words reverberate around the room, and it seems Syed can hear them too as we both turn our heads to the bed as if half expecting to see the ghosts of the past lying there in raptures of bliss.

* * *

"Okay," he had said. A single simple word but with it every cell in my body started to hum with excitement.

We were walking to my flat, each of us trying to present a level of studious calm to the outside world. I pretended my heart was not pounding at a frighteningly fast rate and I deliberately looked away from the shake I saw in Syed's hand as he brushed his hair out of his eyes. Never before had my flat seemed so far away from the unit, and I urged it to move nearer, fearing that if we didn't arrive soon then my feet may refuse to obey the strictures of my mind and race ahead with urgent desperation. Finally we arrived and I marvelled at the coolness in my hand as I calmly turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door. I had barely been able to glance at Syed as we walked, so as my foot slammed the door firmly shut behind us I allowed myself the briefest luxury of such a perfect sight. But there was little time for any undisturbed viewing as with the click of the door signalling our exclusion from the world, his mouth was on mine, desperate and hungry, no time or space allowed to find breath or feel anything except the wet heat of lips and tongue pulsing as they sought and fought within the suffocating confines of our conjoined mouths. His hands gripped at my t-shirt, the fabric pulled so taut within his grasp that I feared it might rip into hundreds of shreds. Our bodies slammed into the wall, tightly pressed into each other, as if we were trying to become one mass of aching, burning, desiring flesh, and for a few dizzying, brain-numbing, muscle-melting seconds I was unable to think. I simply let my body absorb the opulent pleasure of reliving and improving on our past encounter, finding an intoxication of body and soul that I had previously mocked as unfeasible and unwanted. But while he remained lost in frantic need, other thoughts forced their way into my feverish mind and I made myself reluctantly push his gorgeous needful body away from me, just the slightest, just enough to allow myself to catch a desperate breath, to hear his almost silent whispered _please, _and to observe with delight the way his body moved into mine, craving my heat, my touch.

"Hey, _hey_." I whispered, trying to calm his pleading eyes with the sound of my words, trying to smooth his anxious muscles with the feel of my hands. "There's no rush." I paused and placed a slow closed mouth kiss onto full, tender, swollen lips. "I want us to take our time." And I did. As amazing and thrilling as our first encounter had been, that desperate wanton furious fumble of hands and mouths, I wanted more. I wanted him to feel more, I wanted us to _be _more. His chest heaved, grabbing oxygen to fill his emptied lungs and he nodded silently. I kissed him again, slowly, letting our mouths open, our tongues explore, finding hidden weak spots, swiping over areas of delicious delight. I let my hands play with his hair as they been longing to do, satisfying their need with curls wrapped around fingers and nails scratching scalp. Minutes, or possibly hours passed before I finally allowed my mouth to move from his, but only travelling as far as the tempting display of his neck. My tongue ran over sharp pinpricks of stubble, teeth nipped at tender morsels of flesh. He gasped back a stifled cry, the knowledge of his enforced reticence serving to thrill me more and urge me on, seeking to unleash the intense ardour that I knew lay within his attempts at a restrained exterior. I reached the buttons on his shirt and let my fingers, mouth and tongue work around them, beneath them, play with them and then undo them to expose more of his splendour to my needful eyes. Every inch of skin revealed a new treasure, every bite of flesh displayed a new source of delight. I savoured the sight, filling my eyes with beauteous visions, coating my tongue with delicious flavour, charging my ears with his helpless quiet moans. I disposed of his trousers, hearing the metallic clang of the belt hitting the floor as my hands caressed the lean muscles of his legs. I dragged my tongue lazily up the inside of his thighs, feeling my desire reach new heights as I smelt his musky scent, but I ignored his plaintive wordless pleas and rose to my feet, his boxers, impossibly tight and clinging now, left untouched.

"Patience is a virtue," I teased as I returned to his waiting lips.

He gulped, swallowed hard and found his voice. "Really?" His low pitched voice found the same teasing tone, as he slipped his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders then let his fingers seize the initiative as they edged round the bottom of my t-shirt. Tentatively at first, then gaining boldness with every move, his fingers removed my clothes and wandered on a tender exploration of my willing body. I forced myself to remain still, to submit to his desiring touch. I shivered as his fingertips drew feather-light arcs around my stomach, trembled as his palms rubbed warmth into my tensed thighs and my legs nearly buckled beneath me when the tip of his tongue licked tantalisingly around my nipple. His every action was so slow, so deliberate and so achingly tender that I felt my entire body burn with desperate desire, my composure rapidly collapse and my veins rush with the sudden flood of molten lust.

I couldn't take it anymore. His touch was sending me insane. I grabbed Syed and pulled him into my embrace, kissing him hungrily, wantonly, pushing him back towards the bed, the two of us stumbling as we fell, hands frantically moving from hair to neck, to arms, to arse, trying to grasp at every available inch of skin before collapsing onto the bed, our bodies finding a perfect fit as if they had been waiting for this all their lives.

"Patience is a virtue?" Syed gasped as I ran kisses along his neck, over his Adam's apple, sucking at the sweet taste that hovered over his collarbones.

"Virtue? So overrated," I murmured back into tender welcoming flesh as Syed's mouth sucked eagerly on my outstretched fingers, sending sparks of anticipatory delight flashing through my body and tingling at my nerves.

My wet fingers, now heavily lubricated slid downwards with my mouth on an unmistakable trail, as I sought to rid us of the one remaining piece of fabric that separated us and unceremoniously yanked off his boxers. The briefest of yelps at the rough movement of cotton over sensitised cock and I made my body cover his with apologetic fervour, tongue swopping with fingers swopping with tongue as I stroked along, over, beneath and around his tender arousal, before letting my fingers continue their path behind and my mouth nuzzle at the top of this thighs.

A sudden spurt of doubt gripped my mind and I looked back up at Syed's face.

"Sy?" I whispered and I felt him shudder at the sensation of hot breath on wet skin.

His eyes flickered open and met mine, reading the question so clearly posed within and answering with a swift nod. "Please, Christian," he confirmed, his voice hitching as he spoke and the wanton need displayed ran straight to my aching cock. I moved to prepare him slowly, one finger becoming two, three, moving, sliding, pushing, my mind begging with my pleading muscles to take their time, deepening my breathing and holding myself back despite the low half-halted moans that were emanating from Syed's mouth.

"Ready?" I asked, finally, softly into his ear, my lips tingling from the touch of his skin, tendrils of his hair tickling the end of my nose. He nodded, silently and I could see his teeth digging into his bottom lip, with nerves or desire or some mixture of the both I wondered, until I slowly edged my way into his sweet warmth and forgot to think anymore. All conscious thoughts were lost to me as all I could think of was the way his sweat-dripped locks clung damply to his trembling skin, the way his blunt nails gripped tightly into the sheets, his knuckles whitened with intensity, the way he moved around me, pressing and pushing, tightening and dragging me closer to the edge so frighteningly fast. My mind was swimming with the sound of blood rushing through my ears, blocking out all but the sound of his soft moans stifled by the flesh of his arms, the echo of his aching cries muffled by the down of the pillows and what I'm sure must have been the fragments of his desperate pleas near hidden by his clenched fists. My heart raced and pounded and any remaining specks of self-control or wish to hold myself back was drowned out with each passing moment of bliss, until I relinquished all hope, pressing my mouth harder and closer into the most tempting of golden skins and became enveloped completely by his tight heat.

"I could never get enough of you," I whisper, recklessly, wantonly, longingly, truthfully, so quietly that I would have doubted he could hear, but his body had not learnt the skills of lying or disguise, and the shake, the shudder, the gasp and the desperately silenced cry spoke honestly and truly to my fallen heart. The incredible sight, sound and feel of his release sent shockwaves through my tensed body, fireworks exploding in every cell as waves of powerful pleasure crawled over me again and again and again, sending my helpless body soaring and burning and falling, trembling and weak, back to the world.

* * *

"It was beautiful," he murmurs sweetly, "so beautiful and so bloody petrifying. I was scared after I slept with Malik so I left Leeds. I was petrified after sleeping with you and I couldn't imagine how on earth I could ever _not _see you every day so I became desperate, I proposed, I bloody proposed to her I was that scared. That's how much you meant to me already Christian, that I would try to ruin three people's lives just to give myself a chance of getting my heart away from you." I push his hair back from his face and run my thumb gently over his lips, feeling the ache of gestures past still haunting my mind, images of another kitchen, an engagement party in full flow behind the closed door, Syed standing before me in his finery, his eyes blazing with anger, his clothes a constant visual reminder of all that stood and yes, still threatens to stands between us; a culture, a faith, a world that I will always be excluded from. I shake my head and focus on the gentle tanned glow from Syed's naked skin now as he stands in _our _kitchen, preparing himself for _our _bed. I rest my head into his hair and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of him, listening to his hum of pleasure. "I never knew one person could make me feel like that," he continues quietly and I smile into his hair.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Making me feel like I was weak and nothing and strong and invincible all at the same time."

"Exactly." I feel his smile against my chest and my heart threatens to burst with the ache of love. "I didn't think it was right that one person could have so much power. But I got it later." He leans back again to look directly into my eyes. "You made me feel like that because I let you, because I wanted you to, and because I needed you to. It just took me months and months to realise it."

The light that shines from his eyes drags my lips back to his, kissing him slowly, longingly, kissing him for all the times I wanted to before, for all the times he needed me to, for all the times I thought we never would again. We kiss and it nearly promises to subdue my final aching fears.

Nearly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Erm, yeah, sorry for the long wait for an update. I have no excuse, most of this was written a while ago but it took me ages to get it all finished. Sorry, will try to do better next time x  
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* * *

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I grab my dirty gear together and shove it rather haphazardly into my bag, swinging it over my tired and aching shoulder as I make my way out of the gym. Walking into reception I glance across at the desk to see Mel on the phone, staring into space, biting her lip with pleasure and coquettishly twisting a curl of blonde hair around a manicured nail.

"Bye Mel," I call as I walk passed the desk. She starts with an excited grin, her eyes lighting up and she releases her curl to beckon me over to her.

"It's Syed," she mouths, pointing rather unnecessarily to the phone. I laugh quietly, I really should have guessed, and I hold my hand out for the receiver, catching a glimpse of the 'Member's Details' spreadsheet open on the computer in front of her.

"Hey gorgeous!" I exclaim happily.

"Is that how you always answer the phone at the gym? I could have been anyone," an amused tone replies.

"Yeah, thought I'd chance it, never know who I might get lucky with." I laugh and I swear I can hear his pout from down the phone. "Nah, there's only one man who gets has such a devastating effect on Mel's blood pressure," I wink at her rapidly blushing cheeks and dodge the pen that she chucks at my head. "...and on mine," I continue, turning my head round to grant me the illusion of privacy. "So, did you get it alright? You know, the _thing _that you _needed_." I whisper with heavy emphasis.

"Is that your attempt at subtlety?" he asks, amused. "Yeah. I did."

"Good, great." My voice sounds odd, brassy tones ringing through the words and I cough slightly to try and clear my mind as well as my throat. I try again. "Good."

"Yeah. Erm Christian, there was something else. I mean, don't be mad or anything but I kind of had to agree to a small favour from Mel."

"A favour?" I turn back round to see a not insignificant smile hovering over Mel's face as she pretends not to listen.

"Yeah, I sort of said she could come to dinner next week?" His words run quickly into each other at the end. "That's okay right?"

I take another look Mel's small satisfied smile and smile myself. "Fine, no worries. Look I'd better go, be home soon."

I pass the phone back to Mel, the expression on her face hovering somewhere between excited satisfaction and faux angelic innocence.

"Things fine are they?" she queries, wide eyed.

"You cheeky little..."

"He offered!" She retorted. Her laughing rapidly turned more serious, her eyes chasing my face with mild concern. "I was a bit surprised you'd let your gorgeous boyfriend go trawling for other men's numbers though," I hear a note of warning in her tone. Or maybe I just think I do, maybe I am just looking for some support for this stupid nagging ache inside, some justification that I am not just going insane over something that I have never felt before. A chill edge of tension ruffles the air-conditioned space between us and she laughs uneasily. "Well if he were mine I'd tie him to the bedpost with elastic so he couldn't get too far away. Oh!" she gasped suddenly, "unless of course, you two were thinking of _sharing the wealth_..." Her whole face glimmered with mischief and I laughed indulgently and with no little relief.

"What are you like, eh? That mind'll get you into trouble one day. And don't go talking like that to Sy." I warned hastily.

"Don't worry," she smiled. "I'm not that dumb. I'm not just some pretty face."

"I never thought that," I reply, reassuringly. "I promise I have never thought you had a pretty face." I bite back my grin as she shrieks in disgust and hunts unsuccessfully for another pen to launch at me.

"Charmer! That your idea of sweet talk is it? It's a wonder he puts up with you."

"Oh I make it worth his while, don't you worry. And he loves it. _Trust_ me. Right I'd best be off."

"Have fun. Oh and when I come round for dinner, if you want me to go, if I get ___in the wa__y_, you know, of _anything_, then just say the word."

"It's fine, babe. Even me and Sy can manage whole meals sometimes without having to jump each other over the dinner table."

"Shame," I hear her mutter quietly as I walk off.

"I heard that," I call towards her.

"You were supposed to." Her words come floating out, a ball of laughter dancing on the summer breeze as the gym doors swing shut behind me. And then quieter, faint enough to imagine that it was only the wind, or the echo of a passer-by. "Just take care of him, yeah?"

The last drops of dampness in my hair roll down the back of my neck, setting a shiver running through my body.

...

I enter the flat and hear the door click shut behind me, a calm, definite sound that soon disappears beneath the tinny sound of the radio, the half tuneless humming from Sy's mouth, the crackling of boiling oil and the bubble of simmering stock. Yesterday's unwelcome and unusual paranoia may thankfully have passed, but something remains not quite right; there is this slight edge of tension that nudges awkwardly inside and halts my customary return. Usually my arrival after an afternoon in the gym sees me bounding on the stairs, door slamming urgently as adrenalin and endorphins combine to flood my veins with renewed energy and vigour, my aching muscles revitalised and longing for a new release. Sy sometimes feigns annoyance, speaking chiding words, chastising my childishness and extolling patience, demanding restraint when I launch myself at him with exuberant delight. But yet, as so often, while my ears could hear his words, my body could still feel the shiver that would run down his spine, and my eyes could see the shadows of undeniable desire that fluttered and flickered and settled in his gaze. And then those chastising tones would burn a path of want through me and rapidly turn into something altogether more _satisfactory_.

But tonight I don't bound, I don't leap over the sofa, I don't fly into a much needed embrace of sweaty limbs into perfect soft skin. I merely move slowly into the kitchen and rest my tired head on his welcoming shoulder, nuzzling flesh at the hollow of his neck and feeling his smile as it slides up the corners of his mouth.

"Cooking up a feast," I say, pointlessly, given the massive selection of pots and pans simmering away and the array of bowls and chopping boards in the sink.

"Uh-huh." He grins and starts to reel off a long list of dishes and their respective ingredients until I start to laugh.

"Did I miss something Sy? How many are you planning on cooking for? Should I pop outside and ask the people in the queue at the chippy if they fancy coming up here instead? You look like you're worried we might never eat again!"

He flushes and I feel the muscles in his back tense. "Just fancied a bit of a treat," he mutters self-consciously and pulls away from me, making a show of stirring the pan furthest away from where I am standing.

"Well, I'm sure it'll be great. Delicious in fact,' I reply, in an attempt to apologise for any perceived insult and wander back to the main part of the flat, puzzling over this slightly odd behaviour, until I catch sight of his phone on the table, lying carefully on top of a piece of paper containing 11 digits and a mass of doodles. Ah yes, I realise, glancing at Sy's over-busy appearance and over-elaborate meal preparation. Procrastination. I steal a glance at the paper and feel a ridiculous twinge of relief when there is no sign of anything other than mindless circles and scrawls. No Syed+Mailk 4EVA for example. And then I give myself a mental slap. I'm not sure if I've mentally regressed Sy to some 13 year old girl or myself. Either way is pretty disturbing, I think with a cold shudder running through me until I remind myself quickly of some of the multitude of ways in which it has been categorically proved that we are both adult, mature and vaguely mature, men.

I wander back to the kitchen and place a kiss onto his stubbled cheek. "Just hazarding a guess, but you're not trying to put off calling Malik are you?"

He sighs, resting the spoon back in the pan and leaning back into my arms. "I just…I don't know what to say. I picked up the phone half a dozen times and just put it straight back down again. Maybe it's a stupid idea anyway, maybe I should just let it be. Let sleeping dogs lie, let bygones be bygones and all those great pearls of wisdom."

"Hmmm, maybe," I concede, and I let a wave of selfish relief break over me before fighting an unsuccessful battle with my nagging conscience and continuing. "Or maybe you should just call. I mean, you want to, you got the number for a reason and it'll drive you mad having the number and then not doing anything about it, wondering every time I go to the gym if he'll be there too, thinking about it all. You have to try to speak to him in order to let it go. And more importantly if you don't call then we'll be having Mel round here for no reason. And seriously, could you really live with yourself if that happened? "I add frivolously and I am rewarded with a genuine laugh.

"Ah yeah. Sorry about that. I got all flustered and confused and suddenly before I knew it she was inviting herself round. I didn't know what to say. And she's not _that _bad," he exclaims defensively and then in reply to my raised eyebrow continues with a smile, "well, surely even she can't do anything too weird with both of us here."

"You want to keep an eye out. She'll be hunting through the flat looking to sniff your dirty underwear," I suggest with a smirk.

Syed's wide-eyed shudder of fear and disgust is a sight to behold. "I know you're just trying to freak me out so that I'll always remember to put stuff straight in the laundry bin. Which, by the way, I _do_, unless a certain person who shall remain nameless drags me straight into the shower when I get in. She's really not that bad though. Is she?"

"Nah. She might try to nick your clean boxers though, take 'em home as souvenirs."

"Maybe we should frisk her on the way out." We look at each other and start to laugh simultaneously. "Or maybe not…" he amends quickly.

I move to his side and begin to start weighing out rice automatically. "Look, just call him, you know you'll regret it otherwise."

"And say what? 'Hi Malik it's Syed, sorry for sleeping with you and running off. Oh and sorry for running off the next time I saw you, years later. No hard feelings eh?'"

"Or you could suggest meeting up and bring up all that fun stuff then. Go for coffee or something." _In a well-lit place, in daylight, with loads of people around_, I somehow fail to add.

"Maybe. Okay. Why are you so keen for me to see him anyway?" There is nearly a pout to his voice.

"I dunno, because it clearly bothers you, otherwise you wouldn't have run off like you did, and I hate it when stuff bothers you. And because you could do with having a friend, and especially one who might get what you are going through. And," I pause, and breath deeper as Syed turns back to face me. "And I think he deserves it too. I guess I know what it is like to sleep with you and then have you run out." I shrug, trying to make it feel more casual, but his head drops downwards and when he returns to meet my gaze I see the weight of past guilt hanging helplessly and pointlessly in his eyes. I feel the stab of my own guilt hit me deep in my stomach and I pull him back into my arms, trying to make my body repair the damage of my tongue. "Sorry,' I murmur, and I am, I really am. I don't know why I have to rack up old wounds like that, especially not when Sy already feels so bad. Maybe that's why, some stupid need to remind Syed of me when he was thinking of Malik. Sometimes I really despise myself. Maybe Mel was right to wonder. "I'm sorry," I repeat, into the mass of hair that I have buried my head into.

"So am I." He pulls his head away from my chest and with slightly clearer eyes attempts a half smile. "Do you want me to call you and apologise?"

I smile and push the hair back out of his face. "I think you have done plenty of apologising in recent months. That said, I do have some rather fond memories of just how good you are at apologetic phone calls."

A wave of embarrassed pleasure ghosts across the golden skin of his face but his eyes flicker with remembered glee.

* * *

"So you're having a good time are you? Out living the high life of _Leeds_ all the time?" I moaned sulkily, spitting out the word 'Leeds' like a bitter taste, as I curled up in my too big bed, hugging my too cold pillow.

"Yes Christian, that's exactly it." The resigned tone to Syed's voice flowed straight to my ear and dragged up the corners of my lips, heated up the cold ache of my heart and sent shivers down the pulsating veins in my body. "I'm working my fingers to the bone here, and don't even think about making some smutty pun." I closed my open mouth and bit back my giggle. "And stop your moaning, I'm the one who is here all alone, while you've got Roxy, Jane, work, the Vic, R&R…"

"They're not as much fun as you," I pouted, aiming for endearingly childish and loveable but hitting somewhere around sulky moody bastard. I waited to hear his honeyed voice take on chastising tones, my body preparing itself for the rush of excitement that fills my veins when he makes a reprimand sound like the most tempting of turn-ons.

But instead his voice came across far more tentative and sincere as he asked quietly, "Really?" causing a sudden burst of love to wash over me and I lay back on the pillow, soft smile on my face.

"_Yes_ really, you idiot. Nobody is as much fun as you." Then a touch of cheekiness edged through and my smile became a grin as I wriggled under the covers, letting my hands start to feel their way downwards. "You are so much more fun, in _so_ many ways."

"Really?" he repeats, but with confidence now, a smiling lilt to his voice that more than anything else sends my burgeoning desire into spin.

"And don't you know it. So how are you going to make it up to me, to make up for leaving me all alone?" My voice was lower now and quiet, words for his ears only, covering the miles between us until they vanish into the ether, leaving only these tiny electrical pulses to transcribe the beatings of our hearts and the longings of our bodies. I heard his breath start to catch and I shut my eyes. I closed off all sights of our empty-feeling flat, of Walford, of London and saw only the glorious image of him between crisp hotel sheets, the starched whiteness against his glowing skin, his chest heaving, eyes ablaze. "Just what are you going to do when you get back to make up for it?"

"Okay well when I get back…" he began, but his voice was nervous and trailed off.

"Please Sy, tell me. I wanna hear you. I miss you. I really miss you." I couldn't stop my voice from cracking at the end, the truth of my words becoming painfully clear. I used to think that if, no _when_, Syed finally became totally mine, that I would no longer feel an ache from his absence. I used to think it was the not knowing when I would see him again that left me longing for his touch. Yet it seems that the 6 months of blissful nights that end not in the harsh light of dawn forcing truth into our darkened dreams, but rather in a slow return to a sleepy combined embrace have served to make me even greedier still for him. It's a fucking waste, that's what it is, I thought, as sulky thoughts returned to dominate my mind. Me here, him fucking miles away. Although there is this one benefit... "_Tell_ me." I repeated, slowly, deliberately, letting my longing and desire seep through the words, and I heard his breathing grow deeper and heavier.

"When I get back, " he began again, now with a stronger voice, licentiously rolling the syllables round in his mouth and making my nerves hum with excitement. "I'll come straight over to wherever you are, find you, kiss you, kiss you like I wish I was doing right now."

"Fuck I wish you were kissing me right now. But Sy, what if I'm outside, what if there are people watching everywhere?"

"Then I'm sure you could take me somewhere a bit more private." His voice had taken on the husky tone that I adore, that sends all the blood in my veins frantically rushing to pool heavily in my groin.

"I think that would be possible," I agreed, my mind reliving delicious images of my hand grabbing his wrist, pulling him uncomplainingly into darkened spaces, barely managing to hold onto the last shreds of composure before allowing our wild desperation takes control. "So I've found somewhere private, and then…"

"Well then maybe I'll kiss your neck…"

"Fuck I love it when you do that," I hissed, arching my back as I let my mind take over, already feeling the sweet wet heat of his mouth pressing into the curves of my neck, the scratch of stubble rasping along my collarbone as he hunts for more secret and not-so-secret desires.

"I know," he whispered hoarsely, "you get so hard when I do it."

"I'm so fucking hard right now," I moaned, reaching my hand down to stroke myself and as I hear the sound of rustling sheets at the other end of the phone, my mouth falls into a broad grin, picturing Sy doing the same, another victim at the mercy of our lust. "You hard Sy?"

"Yes." I heard his swallow. "Fuck yes. Thinking about where else I might want to kiss you."

I shiver with delight. "And where might that be?"

"How about…along your chest?" I heard his teasing tone and every nerve ending thrilled to it.

"Mmmm...that's good. Where else?"

"Where else do you want me?"

"Try…a little lower?"

"So I'm kissing up your calves?"

"Higher..."

"Mmmm…your stomach?"

"Close…"

"Christian Clarke," Syed murmured hotly, his voice low, seductive, reverberating through my body and fizzing uncontrollably through my veins. "Are you wanting me to suck you?"

And now I laughed with sheer delight and unconfined joy, and shaking with pleasure as I felt myself get impossibly hard. Syed almost never talks like that and so when he does, it sends my body into cataclysms of desire. "Oh fuck Sy, _always_. Best feeling in the world"

"Really?" And then there was this sudden change of tone, that sweetness and slight tentative tone that drives me wild, my mind filling with images of Sy now, hundreds of miles away, gorgeous and horny, and of Sy in the past, taking me in his mouth, licking me, sucking me, letting my brain slowly dissolve out of my cock.

"The way you feel Sy, when you go down on me, your sweet mouth, the way you look, shit, so fucking gorgeous and wild, I could watch you all day." I screwed my eyes even tighter shut and all I could see was Syed looking up at me through a mess of tousled locks, his darkened eyes flickering with want as they gazed through thick shadows of long lashes. My hand moved faster, it's not warm enough, not wet enough, my familiar fingers can't work the magic of his eager tongue, but behind my eyes I still had my vision of erotic bliss and in my ear I had the echo of low shameless keens and the unmistakeable sound of sheets making way for desperate hands to seek much needed relief. "Fuck Sy, I'm close." I heard him gasp back a cry.

"Me too," he whispered and I dissolved into images of how he looks when he touches himself. The way his eyes fall back, teeth digging into his lips, quiet abandoned moans, an incomparable image of wanton desire mixed with pure beauty and I can bear it no longer. I let myself fall, calling Sy's name like a drowning man crying for salvation. I turned to the phone, gripped tightly in white-knuckled hands, my solitary link to Syed and swallowed desperately, searching for moisture in my lust-dried mouth, and whispered hoarsely to him.

"Let me hear you come," I begged.

A stream of muttered curses, abandoned groans and sweet sweet aching pleas floated from his lips and covered my still trembling body with warmth, then with a cry that spoke of untrammelled ecstasy, he whispered my name as he found his release.

"I really miss you Sy," I murmured, once I heard his breathing relax.

"I'll be home soon," he promised and I clung to his words, to the knowledge that it was true and to the warm bubble of pleasure that brought life and heat to my winter-chilled body at the casual mention of our life together as home.

* * *

The flush of memory fills Syed's cheeks and I catch a glimpse of his widened eyes before he lowers them quickly to the floor for a few seconds.

"I'm not sure that will work for apologising to Malik though," he mumbles, and I drag my mind back to the present. Oh yeah. Shit_. _Although I'm pretty sure it would, I think with dismay.

"Yeah actually just ignore me," I say instead, curling a stray lock behind his ear.

Syed's head rises back to meet mine. "Don't I always?" he teased, head tilted, with the smile that causes my stomach to ache with pleasure.

"Idiot." I tapped him gently in the stomach, swatting away his attempts at defence. "Look, it's going to be on your mind all night otherwise and drive us both insane, so just call him and get it over and done with." I sound more defiant than I mean I think, adding a layer of sternness to cover the new ache that clenches inside, one no longer of pleasure but of other feelings that I don't want to think too deeply about.

He looks at me, eyes attempting to read the meanings in my heart and I do my best to show him only the good, the bits of me that he brings out and to hide the rest. Finally he nods his assent and walks over to the discarded phone on the table and the doodle covered note.

"Christian, do you...would you mind...I sort of would rather do this in private?" He looks up at me awkwardly, like he doesn't think he has the right, ___like he thinks that this might still be __my____ flat_, I realise suddenly with a pang of sadness and I grab my jacket from over the chair and put on a smile.

"Good luck." I lean over to kiss him quickly, savouring the distinct tang of coriander that lingers in his mouth. "Hmm, you've been eating half the food as you're cooking again," I reprimand.

"How else do you know it tastes good?"

"Fair point." I lean back to him and kiss him deeper, letting my tongue work deeper inside his mouth, my hands stroking the softness of his hair. "Yep, you definitely taste good," I declare, and quickly leave the flat before I can let the devil on my shoulder make me stay, or say something about Malik that I know I shouldn't.

Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, before I hear the click of the shutting door I hear Syed's amused aside echo from upstairs. "No wonder your curries always tasted shit."

And with a laugh on my lips I enter the square and leave him alone to make his call.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: In this universe Tam and Afia are not engaged and Afia's family are completely unknown, ie no Yusef.  
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**I seem to be having brain sharing issues at the moment and on reading recent chapters by the amazing Mushroom Hair and the fabulous The Ninth Circle I have spotted a couple of similarities between their fics and a couple of parts of this chapter (that I had already written). All such similarities are entirely coincedental and I think (hope!) distinct enough. Sincere apologies and I hope no offence is taken.**

**This chapter is quite long but I couldn't split it up, so sorry! Would love to know what you think x  
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I hear a familiar laugh, her over-compensatory, slightly anxious, but yet rather annoyed laugh, the one she used when a particularly important client interfered with the table decorations or argued over the need for an extra dish. The laugh that said _oh of course_, in public and_ who does she think she is?_ in private_. _For half a second I smile to myself, thinking of her marching into the unit full of tirades about _jumped up people who think they know best_ and I can almost hear Masood attempt to remind her about how the customer is always right. _Not when they are idiots and __I__ am right_, I mouth to myself with a grin, before my mind kicks into gear and throws more recent memories into sharp focus. Sy is unfathomably grateful to her for every crumb of love she pushes towards him, as if he can see an alternative version of our lives where she still spits at us in the streets or something. But whether it is because I lack Sy's family loyalty or his good nature or his faith or even his residual self-doubt or all of the above, I just can't be grateful for being begrudgingly granted a minute hint of reluctant acknowledgement. It isn't enough for me to forget bitter words of hate being spat out at me or Sy's pained look of sadness when she ignored him on the street. The past is still alive and kicking around in my mind whenever I see or hear her. And now as I glance across to the house I see that look again, the look of disgust and fear that had covered her face when I was playing with Kamil, and is now followed by nervous, quick, flustered looks at her visitors, a couple standing by a car. The three of them exchange words, in a language I don't understand, in a tone that requires no translation. Questions are being asked, and no doubt lies or fobbed off replies are being given in response. I almost start to make my way over there, to ratchet up Zainab's blood pressure a bit, but then the angel on my shoulder shoves the devil off the other with whispered reminders of just how impressed Syed _wouldn't _be if I started yet another scene in the square with his mother.

As more figures come out of the house, Zainab's frustrated anger and the stranger's untrusting wariness is joined by Masood's unreadable blankness, Tam and Afia's apologetic awkwardness and finally two confused but pleasant-looking young kids. As Afia kisses Tam chastely on the cheek and heads into the car with the couple and younger children, I belatedly realise the cause of Zainab's increased consternation. It's meet the family time and she was wanting to impress. _And so Syed was not included_, I think grimly, and I wonder if he even knew. I turn away from the Vic, I don't feel like a drink any more. I start wandering back to the flat, hoping that Sy's phonecall might already be over, but I am halted in my tracks by the stumble of awkward feet and the sound of breathless gasps.

"Christian, wait." I stop and turn to see Tamwar standing behind me, scrunching up his forehead with nervous energy.

"Tam," I greet him, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, then pulling back as I see his body freeze.

"Sorry, erm, I just wanted to apologise in person. You see Afia's family came over, well you saw obviously, and you know what mum's like, we were all up at 5 this morning to wash the curtains and hoover the sofa cushions and it's just…"

"She didn't want the inconvenient stain of the gay son to ruin her tidy and orderly plans, yeah got it," I say, with a dismissive wave of my hand.

"Oh. So Syed didn't say…" Tam trails off, his eyes frantically searching around him for any possible out.

"Tamwar." I fold my arms, step forward and block his path.

"Well, okay, you can put the muscles away. Mum said that _Syed_ could come…"

"But only on his own, with no awkward partner to be seen or heard of, right?" I nod sagely, I really should have guessed that one.

"And Syed said no, he wasn't going to hide you away, I said that would be hard anyway because you do kind of stand out you know and then mum got really angry at us all and…well I guess you don't really need to know all of this. So, Syed didn't mention it then? Sorry, stupid question…"

I suddenly think again of the couple by the car, the almost trepidation in their eyes, the questions, the replies.

"So things are getting pretty serious between you two now then?"

"Yeah, erm sort of, I suppose."

"And do Afia's parents know? About Sy and me?"

"Um, yes. They do go to mosque you know."

Images of a crowd, of a mass of staring unfriendly eyes, of standing alone, of feeling alone, more alone and unwelcome than I think I have ever really felt before and my stomach lurches with a sudden burn of acid.

"And they don't mind?"

"I…don't think so. They are pretty liberal. I think. Erm I have to go call Afia now. About something else." And he shuffles off into the distance, hands reaching into his pocket, his body tensed even more than usual.

"I'm sorry," I mutter unheard to his retreating back. "I'm sorry." And my fading words cover a multitude of sins and faults and blessings. For the things that I need to apologise for and for those that I could never claim to repent. For falling in love with his brother, for his brother falling in love with me. For being gay and white and atheist. For breaking families and breaking hearts. For never ever being sorry about being happier than I thought was ever possible and spending my days and nights just trying to make my boy smile.

Time to go home.

…

I enter the flat to a hush of silence. Sy is sitting still on the sofa, holding his phone in his hand, tapping it lightly on the coffee table, his eyes flicking up to me as I shut the door.

"You spoke to him?" I ask, with a confusion of hope and fear swelling in my stomach. There is something unwelcome lurking in the depths of Syed's eyes that worries me.

"You lied," he states, his voice cracking and I struggle between wanting to take away anything that has caused him pain, guilt that the pain-causing 'anything' is yet again me, and sheer bewilderment at what I am supposed to have done. I rummage through an assortment of crimes but find nothing that fits the bill and so I merely stare in confusion at Syed's hurt face.

"What?"

"To Malik. You lied to Malik about us."

"Oh Sy." I moved over to him, sitting down next to him and taking his hand "I didn't know who he was, what he wanted, what he might do. I just didn't want you to get any more hassle."

"I hate the idea of you lying. I get why you did it. And the idea that you would do that, for my sake, to try to protect me, well it's amazing. But I wish you hadn't. One of the things I loved most about you right from the start was that you were so _proud_, so fiercely unapologetic and unashamed of who you were and what you wanted. I wanted to be like that, so strong and proud and brave. And that day, at Bushra's party, you had to speak out, you had to stand out, make sure that everyone knew…I thought why couldn't you just let it lie, just follow the line of least resistance. I was so angry at you for causing waves and getting involved in things you didn't understand. But at the same time I couldn't get over how strong you were, so sure and confident of yourself. I thought you were…well, _incredible_. That's why I kissed you, why I couldn't stop myself from doing what I had wanted to do since the first time I saw you. I just couldn't hold back, you were irresistible. You still are." He smiled slowly up at me through hooded lashes, a smile that begins at the edges of his lips, curves a path upwards through stubbled tanned cheeks and twinkles a light in his eyes before fading away, leaving darker sorrowful depths to gaze at me, teeth bitten lips to lower and sigh. "I had to lie so often. To tell outright lies, or exaggerated truths and just keep pretending all the time that you meant nothing to me, that we meant nothing to each other. And every time, it was like this stabbing feeling at the pit of my stomach, this ache, this build-up of acid burning away at me. And with every word and every step it just hurt more and more."

I watch Syed's hand circling absentmindedly over his stomach, like there is some remnant of pain still lurking there. I long to grab him, to lift his t-shirt, to press kisses of absolution onto the skin there and send beams of love shooting through to wipe out all past terrors and agonies. But I know I can't, that I can only touch the skin, that absolution and freedom within can only come from himself. Yet still the sheer power of his pain is almost impossible to watch. I knew that it was hard for him back then, of_ course_ I did. I saw it in the way he walked in the street, his body tensed as if waiting for the next blow to fall, shielding himself from the truth that he feared could be lurking round every corner. But the way he says it now, it's like before I was only staring through a dirty smeared window and now I am hit by the full glare of his hurt. I guess back then my own pain did a pretty good job of shielding me from, or maybe blinding me to, the worst of his torment, whether from selfishness or self-preservation I'm not sure. All I know is that then, like now, I had to stop myself from just doing what all I wanted to do, to pick him up and take him away, smother his wounds with long deserved love. But now, unlike then, I can at least do this little, to reach across and stroke his hair, to link my fingers into his, to give him a physical reminder of my presence. He glances up at me and flashes a quick smile of thanks, before continuing.

"But the thing is, I was kind of used to it, used to that knot in my stomach and the ball of acid that would rise in my throat when I had to make up an excuse. It felt like it had been there forever and would never go. And then that day when I left home and came here with you… Before then I had thought that 'taking a weight of your shoulders' was just a saying, but that day it felt like a literal thing, like I was about a foot taller or something. But you see, Christian, that ache, that knot, all that pain back then, I knew that that was _my_ punishment for _my_ failings, and that didn't make it easier or better or whatever but at least I could deal with it. But when I saw you forced to lie, because of me, when I _made_ you lie for me…" Syed's voice trails off as he swallows hard, and he looks away, looks out of the window to see a different life, now long gone but never forgotten. I squeeze his hand sympathetically, but I can feel the same kind of knot in my own stomach, the familiar and distinct bile of deceit rising with the memory of a thousand obscured truths and fabricated pretences, dark unbelieving eyes staring across the bar with hatred burning straight through my weak attempts at evasion. When Syed speaks again, his voice is intense but quieter and I almost have to strain to hear it properly. "I hated that. The idea that I was the one who had taken the most honest, most open and proud man I knew and dragged you down into my world of lies. I never, ever want them to happen again."

I pull Syed across and into a warm embrace, letting his hair tickle the end of my nose, letting his body mould into mine, letting his scent envelop my senses. "And it won't." I promise. "It hasn't. I was just trying to be discrete, to make sure you didn't get into trouble."

A ruffle of hair shifts from under my chin and two eyes, soft with affection and shining with silent mirth, turn to meet my gaze. "Yeah, and 99 times out of a hundred, you being discrete would be a thing to be marvelled at, and I can't even begin to say enough how much it means to me that you would do that. It's just…I don't want being with me to mean you go against things that you believe in."

"_You_ have," I respond quietly.

"No, no," Syed shook his head with fervent intent as he spoke, causing his hair to fall haphazardly into his eyes. "I haven't Christian. But I'm not going to lie again, to _anyone_, just to appease their own ideas of what I ought to believe." The determination in his voice has the rather disconcerting effect of reminding me that he is definitely Zainab's son, and also making the context of Tam's words staggeringly clear. He moves away from me slightly, finding a more casual smile on his face. "So, dinner?" he asks and as I nod in agreement I see a flash of relief pass over his face and we sit down at the table, near groaning with the weight of numerous dishes.

…

About an hour later, when I think I have eaten more than is possible or necessary or desirable for a single person to eat in one sitting, I stretch myself back on the chair in a vain attempt to allow my poor abused stomach some respite. It occurs to me, rather belatedly, that aside from the awkward topic of just how much more than friends I am with Sy, I have no idea how the conversation with Malik went. I glance over at Sy, peering over the mounds of food still separating us, and bite back a laugh at the sight of him still manfully attempting to eat what must be more than his bodyweight of curry, presumably in a bid to prove that he hadn't gone _too _overboard with his procrastination techniques.

"Sy?"

"Uh-huh?" he mumbles through a mouthful of daal.

"What did you actually say to Malik? Did you sort it all out?"

"Well…" he hedges and swallows down his food, "I decided to take your advice."

"Always a good start," I nod sagely. "Which specific bit of advice was that?"

"I suggested we met for coffee next Thursday and caught up. I actually feel really optimistic about it now. He didn't hang up on me or anything, he seemed happy to speak to me. I never thought I'd see him again and now I have the chance to make amends."

"That's great." I stretch a smile across my face and hope it passes muster. "Where are you meeting him?"

"I said the café by the gym, I don't know where exactly he lives so it seemed a good idea."

"So it's a date then?" I say with half-hearted jollity that rapidly falls flat, plummeting like a boulder into an empty canyon. Silence returns within our flat, the sounds of life outside filtering through the window and echoing loudly around the walls, the thundering of a tube though the tunnel sending a shudder reverberating through the glass. I reach across the table, running my thumb over his hand until he opens his palm and grasps my hand. "Sy?"

He looks up at me with unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. "It's just that word…_date_. And thinking about all the stuff in the past…"

"Stuff with Malik?" I ask, trying my hardest to rid my voice of sulking shadows.

"No, with you. Us. Our _history_. We never had dates, did we? We had stolen minutes, behind people's backs. Running down alleys and dark corners when it all got too much."

"What did you want me to come round to your parents with flowers?"

"Idiot," Syed half-heartedly rolled his eyes at me. "Surely there's somewhere between 'holding hands in the cinema' and 'having sex behind everyone's back'? You know, _normal _start of a relationship stuff." He squeezed my hand and smiled sadly, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. "I just want to be proud of everything to do with us and I can't. It's like all the stuff in the past, even the stuff that was amazing and loving and perfect, it feels like it is still tainted by everything else that was happening. I can't remember the good without the bad coming along too and I hate that."

"Yeah," I say, pointlessly, returning his heavyhearted smile. "I know what you mean." And my eyes fall hopelessly beyond Syed's chair, onto the sofa, the floor, the door.

* * *

"Look, just tell me what's going on."

"Maybe if you started paying attention then you'd know and not have to nag me."

"_Nag_ you?"

Syed sighed at me and wriggled round slightly from his prone position on the sofa, head on my stomach, one of my hands playing with his hair, the other entwined with his. "It was your idea to get this film, I thought that was because you wanted to watch it."

"Well I did, but then you kept distracting me," I pouted.

"Me? I'm just lying here!" Syed exclaimed, pushing his palms into my chest and lifting himself to a more upright position.

"Exactly," I countered. "Lying there, putting that gorgeous body of yours on full display." I brushed a hand up and down his body as I spoke, watching his eyes start to widen, his teeth edge to dig into the soft plumpness of his bottom lip. "Flaunting that beautiful hair," I continued as I ran both hands through his dark brown locks, pushing it carefully behind his ears. "Showing off that tempting mouth," I murmured as my thumb made a sweeping movement over his red lips. "So I think we can both agree that it is completely your fault." I grinned, case closed, and leaned back, watching Syed shake his head at me, his mouth twitching in amusement.

I had suggested the film, I was enjoying this feel of being a 'normal couple', for the want of a better expression. As amazing as the sex was, and trust me, it was out-of-this-world good, I wanted more. I wanted to be with him all the time, to sit with him and talk, or not talk and just be. And as I had waited for that feeling to die away, it had confounded me by simply getting stronger instead, with the ticking clock of the wedding nagging on and on, a constant unwelcome and unmoveable backdrop to our fragile minutes and hours together. Part of me, the hopelessly hopeful part, that woke every morning thinking that maybe today might be _the_ day, couldn't help thinking that the more time we spent together like this, the more impossible it would be for him to go through with it all. The other part of me just wanted to make the most of what time we did have together before our own personal movie reached its inevitable conclusion. But one glance at the glint that shone in Syed's eyes and such unpalatable thoughts quickly flew out of the window.

"Maybe I should try to help your concentration then," he began, lips twitching, fingers tracing light paths up the inside of my arms.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"I could get rid of my hair," he declared solemnly. "Get it all cut off and then it wouldn't be able to distract you right?"

"Oy, no. Don't you even joke about such a thing."

"Who says I'm joking? Hmm…maybe I should go for a crewcut," Syed stretched his hands up to his scalp, pushing his hair back so it was hidden beneath the palms. "Might smarten me up a bit, don't you think?"

"That's fighting talk, Syed Masood," I warned, slowly edging my hands to his hips.

"You think you're all that, Christian Clarke. Just because you have a few muscles," I raised my eyebrow and he retracted slightly with a grin, "well more than a few, perhaps. But I have hidden strengths." The grin stretched its way steadily across my face as I filled my mind with the intimate knowledge of some of those strengths.

"Put your money where your mouth is then, pretty boy."

"Pretty boy?" He pushed at my shoulder in mock horror. "That's it. Now you are definitely getting it."

"Can't wait," I laughed and we started to tussle, pushing at each other's bodies and tugging at each other's clothes. A mock wrestle that saw us giggle as much as we grappled, falling off the sofa as hands yanked at jeans and belts and shirts, breathing hampered by exertion and laughter as we rolled round on the floor. Suddenly Syed's fingers found contract with my sides, light strokes of blunt nails on my sensitive skin and I collapsed into helpless giggles, my limbs flailing as all their strength disappeared. He stopped and looked at me in surprise.

"Ticklish Christian?" he laughed.

"No," I replied. But given that I struggled to utter even this simple word due to my incessant laughter and squirming, I don't think I was completely convincing.

"Ha, how come I hadn't realised this before? Oh this is going to be fun," he murmured softly and he set about me, sitting astride, his fingers plying featherlight torment on my body while I was wrecked with near hysterical sobs of laughter.

"Say 'mercy'" he demanded, pausing for a second above me, his fingers poised millimetres above my pitiful flesh.

"Never," I insisted, with a burst of foolish pride, but as soon as he renewed his devilish contact I squirmed helplessly and conceded, crying out _mercy _in bleating sobs.

His grin was wide and smug and he looked almost unfathomably gorgeous as I stared up at him from my prone position on the floor. His hair was a tangled mess of curls, falling into his eyes, curling over the dishevelled collar of his untucked, half unbuttoned shirt, while his skewwhiff jeans appeared to be missing their belt. A dark red flush had embroidered itself across the tanned curves and angles on the canvas of his face while gasps for breath and the struggle for normality sent his chest heaving, stray giggles and gulps punctuating his attempts.

"So I've won then," he beamed once he had regained a semblance of composure, his smile far eclipsing the pale rays of late autumn sun that crept through the blinds.

"Yep," I conceded. "You found my weak spots," I added honestly, thinking not only of the small sensitive ticklish areas at my waist and under my ribs, nor merely of the memory of his tongue probing in the hollow of my neck or the patch just behind my ear. I watched his eyes grow darker, and softer with an understanding that he cannot, and I must not, speak of. I lowered my voice as I spoke again. "I'm at your mercy Sy. Take your reward."

I stared at him and watched the rise and fall of his chest, the smooth movement of his hand as it edged slowly up over my stomach, my chest, stroking a palm over my lips, my cheekbones and fingering my short hair before he bent down to find a pair of waiting lips seeking the taste and feel that they had longed to be reminded of. His kiss was gentle, sweet and slow, taking all the time that we didn't have to press and seek, to savour the perfect sensation, to linger in honeyed bliss. My hands found his hair and smoothed locks through my fingers, admiring the sensation of silken strands as they twisted round my skin. Time was at a standstill, clocks joining our intoxicating conspiracy and stopping in midstream to allow undisturbed worship of this perfect kiss. Hands on either side of my head, locks of hair gently falling and brushing softly against my face, tantalising touches that sent prickles of delight through my body, tickles that turned into purest pleasure.

And then. A sharp plastic intrusion into our world of ephemeral joy. A ceaseless buzz and constant vibration in Sy's pocket, harsh tinny noises that demanded immediate attention. He halted and wordlessly removed his body from mine, his hand extricating his phone and from the shadows of guilt that darkened his face I had no need to ask who it was.

"Amira!" he exclaimed with a voice of inexorable cheer and I felt the cold chill of winter arrive. "What's wrong?"

He turned away from me as he spoke, and I moved my head to try and avoid hearing his lies masquerading as truth, or was it the other way round? I felt Sy slipping away as the Syed that was somehow so familiar yet completely unrecognisable came to the fore, uttering placating words that I didn't want to listen to but couldn't help but hear, each one pushing a knife deeper and deeper into my gut.

"Okay, calm down…I'm sure she's just trying to help…yes I know how important the seating plan is…well maybe she has a…no of course I'm on your side…I'm coming over now…" And then finally the words that took the knife and twisted it, firmly, determinedly, agonisingly. "…yeah, I love you too, Princess."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him hang up his call, and watched his careful ministrations with masochistic eyes. Buttons were fastened, creases were smoothed, jeans were straightened, hair was brushed with trembling fingers until every wayward lock was forced into muted obedience, flattened and calmed behind flushed ears. I watched as he sought to remove all signs of this, of us, of me, of him. I watched and something snapped inside. I grabbed his hand, yanking him over to me, desperate to uncover that part of him that was now hidden under respectable disguise. I kissed him fiercely and he responded in kind, an urgent uncontrollable need driving our lips and our teeth, our hands and our bodies. Lips that had promised sweetness became remorseless with ferocity, hands that had caressed with longing care turned frantic with despair, bodies that had teased with light-hearted joy and embraced with mutual tenderness found themselves wrestling with frenzied need.

He pulled away first, struggling for breath and composure, his eyes a burning mess of torment and hurt. I looked away, steadying my eyes on the less complicated images of sofa cushions that needed plumping up, DVDs that needed tidying away, cups that needed washing and drying and putting neatly back away where they belonged.

We didn't speak. There were no words to be said.

I heard him wordlessly return himself to an ordered state and felt him pause silently at the door before the definite _click_ signalled another departure.

The next day we met again at work. There was a moment's pause, when our thoughts chimed loudly and clearly above the hiss of food simmering in pans and the clink of utensils against the cluttered work-surface, _Should I say something? Will he? _But then I found my face forming a smile that was rapidly responded to in kind and we began anew again, because anything else was beyond the possibilities of our heads and hearts.

* * *

I get up out of my seat and move over to Sy, pulling him up into a tight, breath-stealing hug.

"Careful, I'm really rather full. I might be sick," he mumbles half-heartedly into my neck and I release the pressure of him slightly with the edges of a smile hinting at my lips.

"Look Sy, we can't change the past, we just have to deal with it and move on," I tell him and myself.

"And make amends where we can?" he adds hopefully, pulling back to look at me with sincerity shining in his eyes and I nod.


End file.
